Faith handed Lance a wet paper towel. They stood in the kitchen of the church, which was attached to the Fellowship Hall in the basement. On the first Sunday of every month they had a potluck after church, so the air was heavy with the scent of warm casseroles and fresh baked goods. Jill, the owner of the lovely diner, had brought her famous Cinnamon Rolls. It was almost lunch time and the scent was making Faith’s mouth water.
Lance dabbed at his bloody nose with the wet paper towel. “Do you think it’s going to leave a mark? Is there a mirror in here?”
“There’s a mirror in the bathroom, but I think you’ll be okay. It looks like it has stopped bleeding already.”
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