All evening you were interested in one man-he was sitting at the table on the edge, but was in the center of attention, telling different stories to those present at a dinner party organized by your mother. You left the house to stand on the porch - tired of the endless stories of this man and his loud voice. Your chest was filling with a fresh night breeze, when suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder, and, turning around, u noteced Peter's sweet smile. May I know your name, pretty thing?