[For Evey]
There were certain subjects on which Peter Carlisle considered himself something of an expert. One of those was women. Now, he didn't believe he understood women (Who did?), but he felt he knew them. Knew what worked and what didn't, the power of a well-timed smile and the way a turn of phrase could make cheeks flush or breath catch. It was easy to knew something when you were as enamored of it as Peter was, and there was absolutely no doubt that he loved women.
So it was that he was confident when he made his way upstairs to meet Evey in spite of what might have been seen as a dubious history, for Evey was a woman, and furthermore Evey already liked him (The blush told him that much.) The outlook was good.
He'd forgone the gaudy Hawaiian print shirts the clothes bin seemed compelled to provide him, and had instead pulled on his white dress shirt over a pair of blue jeans. Not quite being a saunterer, he strode easily into the rec room instead, a small, bound bouquet of tropical flowers clutched in his right hand.
So it was that he was confident when he made his way upstairs to meet Evey in spite of what might have been seen as a dubious history, for Evey was a woman, and furthermore Evey already liked him (The blush told him that much.) The outlook was good.
He'd forgone the gaudy Hawaiian print shirts the clothes bin seemed compelled to provide him, and had instead pulled on his white dress shirt over a pair of blue jeans. Not quite being a saunterer, he strode easily into the rec room instead, a small, bound bouquet of tropical flowers clutched in his right hand.