Noah was back in the afternoon.

He was still dressed sharply, but his hair was tousled and his deep-blue shirt, which he wore underneath a gray coat, was stained with a few drops of dried blood. It took her one glance to know that he had been in a fight.

It felt as warm as spring in the bedroom.

Gwynn took his coat off for him and used her lean fingers to scratch the stains on his shirt. Raising her eyes, she looked at him. “Did you pick a fight with someone? Come on, Noah. You’re forty-on