That nothing had been noticed was pretty much the norm. He worked equally well under pressure, after a few pints, or with a blinding hangover from hell. For him, those conditions were considered normal.
Once she had her tea, he went back into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. He was listening all the while, looking enthused at the mind reading (bloody telepaths) and the fact that her mum hadn't explained things to her (insert eyerolling, here). Mothers seemed to say too much, or not enough at all.
"Anything involving time travel can induce madness, but I'm following along so far. Telepathic sorts are a pain in the arse. Even where I come from, they're the worst."
He didn't even bother with sugar or creamer. After a tentative sip and telling Gwen to "go on" with her story, Pete was sure he wouldn't scorch his esophagus by trying to chug down his coffee. She had his undivided attention, in the meantime. Any opinions could be held until she got through all the details of the dream.