Peter parked himself on the couch, reclining slightly and pushing the package onto the coffee table for later consumption. He crossed his legs, flung both arms over the back of the sofa, admired the room some more, kicked at the air a little bit as Leia retrieved her oh-so-mysterious brother -- man, this place was a keeper -- and then, as fast as he'd sat down, got to his feet as the two emerged from around the corner.
So this was John. Peter smiled instinctively, waved at Leia's retreating back as she ran to make coffee, then turned to regard the man. If he'd been expecting someone stereotypical, this guy wouldn't have been at the top of that list; he was clean-cut, immaculate, and clearly appealing (barefoot and clean as a whistle -- not uncommon but altogether somewhat indicative of latent neuroticism). Suddenly, the stalker allegations made slightly more sense.
How about that.
Peter held out his hand, testing the waters. "Hi there, John. Good to meet you."