Colorful was the best option -- Peter was a child of the 80's, after all, and everything had been neon, bright, loud. In space, he'd always seemed to go after the bright things (and people) too. It translated well, here. He didn't want some sad sack of a store for something as great as music.
"Man," he grouched, standing up and tossing a crumpled and used paper towel filled with dust to the side in order to shake Steve's waiting hand, "that was mean. I mean, I'm sure he's a great dude but something something about a bull in a china shop. I don't actually know what the saying is, but I think I know what it means." Peter had this thing, kinda, where he took bizarre and simple pleasure in pretending to be stupider than he was. It was a ... defense mechanism or something. His shop didn't need to be defensibly sound, because he was in it.
"No," he said, his smile crooked and friendly. "I knew you'd show. You said you would." The other Steve would have, too. Hell, most people would. But especially Steve. "Hey," he said, even as he gestured to the shop, like he was inviting Steve to take another look around. "It's good of you though, I know it's probably awkward as all hell."