Bree laughed softly at that—an actual laugh, brief but genuine. "Well, dive bar with peanut shells on the floor lacks a certain poetry," she replied dryly. "And cheesecake," she repeated, her expression immediately shifted into mild suspicion. "On a stick." A beat. "Covered in chocolate." She shook her head, considering for a moment if her taste wasn't too refined after years spent at glamorous parties and extravagant galas where cheesecake usually came in bite sizes. "Charles, I need you to understand that every word you add somehow makes it sound less believable." She added with a light chuckle.
Bree found herself glancing toward the vendor he'd indicated. The line was long. Which, annoyingly, was usually a sign that something was actually worth trying. "Fine," she conceded, taking a small step in that direction before pointing a finger at him. "But if this is terrible, I'm holding you personally responsible."