"Yeah, sure!" you say cheerily. "I'd love to meet them."
He smiles, stands up, offers you his hand to help you up. "Such a gentleman," you say, smiling, and accept.
The two of you leave the shop and after a short walk along the beach, arrive at his pad. One of his friends is sitting on the steps, strumming a guitar. "Hi, Mike," Peter says to him. The friend looks up.
"Oh, hi Pete." he says in response. "Who's you're friend?"
Introductions are made and the three of you head into the house, just in time to see a near collision between his other two roomates, one heading up the staircase, reading a magazine, and the other sliding down the banister. An argument almost breaks out over it until they realize that there's an extra person in the house. "Who's your friend, Pete?" asks the one who'd come down the banister. "Yeah," asks the other, "and has she got a sister?"
"This is Micky and Davy," Peter says, introducing you to them as well.
Peter invites you to stay for dinner. Of course, you accept.
"I'll even cook for you!" he says cheerily.
Sudden visions of Peter's past attempts at 'cooking' dance through your head. He may be a good mystic but he is no chef. "No, I'll cook," you say. "I know how hard it is for musicians to make money; you're giving up some of your food for me, the least I can do is do the work."
"Oh," Peter says, "but you're the guest, you shouldn't have to do anything! I insist!"
The other three chuckle at this exchange, knowing full well that they won't even have to eat it, since you are the only thing Peter will be paying attention to during the meal.
"Smarta$$'s" you mutter, while trying to figure out what to do.
Please? I've got a great recipe I want to try!