5
“What do you mean, you don’t like peanut butter?” Preston asked a week and a half later.
They both stared into the glass counter filled with an array of gorgeous pastries of every variety—cupcakes, cake, macarons, tarts, cheesecake, cookies. The list was endless.
“I don’t like it,” she told him. “I never have.”
“I can’t comprehend this.”
She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s gross. I don’t even like the smell. So, if you think that I’m going to kiss you after you eat that, you’re crazy.”
He took the peanut butter–chocolate chip cupcake on a small paper plate from the woman and gave Trihn puppy-dog eyes. “I bet I could convince you otherwise.”
“No way.” Trihn wrinkled her nose.
“I have my ways.”
She laughed lightly and then spoke to the employee, “I’ll take a mocha fudge
