“Yes, but you might find you’d prefer I kept it on.”
“Nonsense.” Fran slowly undid the buttons and pushed the shirt down Dez’s shoulders to slide off his arms. On instinct, Dez moved to put a hand over the scar, but Fran caught his wrist and held him. “That’s not so bad,” Fran said, looking at it carefully. “Honestly, you do make such a fuss. I thought it was going to look like a zombie bite or something. My granny has a better scar than that from the time she had her gall bladder out.”
Dez boggled. “You’ve seen it?”
“Come visit her and you’ll see it too, I guarantee. You could compete for who’s got the best one. It would be like that scene in Jaws.” He grinned.
“OMG,” Dez said, in a gently teasing imitation of Fran’s voice, and started laughing, relaxing, tension unwinding.