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Summary
"I don't think Dez is gonna-"
"Desiree," he corrected, picking up the next biggest wrench, "Went to the bank- thankfully, otherwise she'd have your cute little ass for being in the shop in the first place, let alone barefoot."
She blinked at him, the fan blowing flyaways into her eyes as her head cocked. Desiree?
He turned his scrutiny her way as he continued to polish the wrench in his hand, his eyes flashing severely. Nerves crawled up her arms at the realization.
Oh. Deacon wasn't Deacon anymore.
"So get your shoes back on and get back out to the service desk to count your gum packets… or whatever it is you do when there aren't any customers around. Before we both get in trouble."
And just like that, Whisper wasn't Whisper either.
Series