We managed to make it through lunch without any more awkward moments and then headed for the pier in Santa Monica. The weather was perfect for a day at the beach, and the sand was crowded with sunbathers and kids running through the surf. We walked down the pier and stopped at a small arcade. “I believe I see Skee-Ball back there,” Grace said. “You probably don’t know this, but I’m the reigning Skee-Ball queen of the Midwest.”

I arched a brow. “Oh really? And when did you win that prestigious title?”

“Chuck E. Cheese’s, 1989. I’m still undefeated.” She cracked her knuckles and shined her nails on her T-shirt. “Hmm. Sounds like a challenge.”

“Oh, no; I would never lure someone into a game they can’t win. That would be mean-spirited.” There was no mistaking the twinkle in her eyes.

I laughed. “That does it. Come on.”

We bought tokens and staked out two lanes. We declared the first round a practice session, and had we been playing for keeps, I would have won. But then, once we started playing for real, she completely creamed me on every round. I demanded two rematches, and lost both times. At the end of my humiliating defeat Grace pressed three dollar bills into my hand. “You shouldn’t have to pay to get your butt kicked,” she said with mock sympathy. I was torn between kissing her and strangling her.

From there we strolled around downtown Santa Monica, occasionally stopping to window-shop or go in to look around. In a secondhand bookshop Grace went overboard in the children’s section, and as she paid for her books, I wandered back outside into the sunshine. I’d been trying all day not to overanalyze or critique how things were going, but I couldn’t deny the fact that I was having an incredible time. She seemed to be having a good time too, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was potential here. There were all sorts of snags we’d have to work out, but if the day so far was indicative of what our relationship would be like, then I was willing to make it work.

There was one thing that bothered me, though, and it was the one thing that was always in the back of my mind whenever I thought about Grace: the God thing. It hadn’t come up yet in conversation, save for passing comments about something she called her “small group” at church or the service she went to on Sunday nights. I started wondering if maybe that whole hospital thing had been injury-induced, or the result of too much morphine. Part of me wanted to bring it up, but if it had been spoken out of a state of temporary mental unbalance, I didn’t want to embarrass her.

“Ready?” she asked, bag of books in hand.

“Indeed. Coffee break?”

“Definitely.”