Peter wasn't sure, but he looked at her and smiled. It was a sweet try, at least, even if it felt a little strange. He listened to her as she spoke, his head still swimming. He drank the rest of his wine and that was where he would be stopping for the night.
"I have one," he informed her, beaming. "A motorcycle." It was in the garage, one of his dad's from his old life, before he grew to approximately the size of New Mexico.