Peter WHY...

Thanksgiving at the Parker house had wound down, the table cleared of its feast and the air thick with the lingering warmth of shared laughter and good food. Liz Allan stood by the front door, slipping on her jacket as she turned to Uncle Ben and Aunt May with a grateful smile. 

"Thanks so much for having me, Mr. and Mrs. Parker," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "This was the best Thanksgiving I've had in a while."

Aunt May beamed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Oh, you're welcome anytime, dear. It was a delight to have you."

"Take care, Liz," Uncle Ben added, nodding warmly. "Don't be a stranger."

Peter grabbed his jacket from the hook, zipping it up. "I'll take her home," he said, catching Aunt May's approving glance. "It's too cold out there for her to go alone."

They stepped outside into the biting November night, the snow falling in gentle flakes that glittered under the streetlights of Forest Hills. Peter pulled out his phone and called a cab, luck on their side as one pulled up within minutes, its engine rumbling against the quiet street. 

They slid into the backseat, the heater blasting welcome warmth as they sat close, their shoulders brushing. Liz rested her head lightly against Peter's arm, the chill of the night fading as the cab wound through Queens toward her apartment.

When they reached her building—a modest brick structure in a bustling part of the city—Peter paid the fare, handing the driver a few bills before they stepped out into the cold again. 

The snow crunched under their boots as they entered the lobby, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. Liz led the way to the elevator, and once inside her apartment, she shrugged off her jacket. "Want a cup of coffee?" she offered, her eyes catching his.

"Sure," Peter said, smiling by the door. "Sounds perfect."

The apartment was small but cozy, with a sofa piled with throw pillows and a faint scent of lavender from a candle on the counter. Liz moved to the kitchenette, filling a kettle as Peter settled onto the sofa. She joined him with two steaming mugs, handing one over as she sat beside him. "Thanks again for inviting me today," she said, her voice soft. "I was kind of dreading being alone."

Peter took a sip, the warmth spreading through him. "No way I'd let you spend Thanksgiving with just takeout. You made it better—Aunt May and Uncle Ben loved you."

Liz smiled, setting her mug on the coffee table. "They're so nice. I was nervous, but they made me feel right at home. You're lucky to have them."

"Yeah, I am," Peter agreed, setting his mug down too. "And I'm lucky to have you there with me. Made it special."

Her eyes softened, and she leaned closer. "You're sweet, Peter. I had a really good time." Their hands brushed, and then, almost naturally, their lips met—a tentative kiss that quickly deepened. One thing led to another, and soon they were full-on making out on the sofa, her hands tangling in his hair, his arms pulling her closer. The heat between them built, the room fading away until a sharp knock on the door jolted them apart.

Liz gasped, her cheeks flushed as she scrambled to her feet. "That's gotta be Mom," she whispered, smoothing her sweater. Peter stood too, adjusting his shirt as Liz hurried to the door and opened it.

Margaret Allan stepped inside, her coat dusted with snow, her face tired but relieved. She froze for a moment, surprised to see Peter standing there, his hair slightly mussed. "Oh," she said, blinking. "I didn't expect company."

"Mom, this is Peter—my boyfriend," Liz said quickly, stepping aside. "Peter, this is my mom, Margaret."

Peter offered a friendly smile, extending a hand. "Hi, Mrs. Allan. Nice to meet you."

Margaret shook his hand, her expression warming. "Nice to meet you too, Peter. I've heard Liz mention you a few times—no trouble at all having you here."

"Thanks," Peter said, relaxing. "I invited Liz over for Thanksgiving at my place today. How're your grandparents doing?"

Margaret sighed, slipping off her coat and hanging it by the door. "They're stable now, thank goodness. It was a rough day—Dad had a health scare, but the doctors sorted it out. I just got back from the hospital."

"I'm glad they're okay," Peter said sincerely. "Liz said it was a close call."

"It was," Margaret replied, nodding. "And thank you for inviting her over, Peter. I hated leaving her alone today—she told me you stepped in with your family. That's awfully kind."

"No problem," Peter said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "My Aunt May and Uncle Ben were thrilled to have her. She's welcome anytime."

Margaret smiled, glancing at Liz with a knowing look. "Well, I'm glad she's got someone like you looking out for her. You seem like a good kid."

"He is," Liz said, her voice soft as she shot Peter a quick grin.

They chatted for a bit longer—Margaret asking about Peter's family, Peter keeping it light with stories of Aunt May's cooking. After a while, he glanced at the clock. "I should head out," he said, grabbing his jacket. "It's getting late."

"Take care, Peter," Margaret said, walking him to the door. "Thanks again for today."

"Anytime, Mrs. Allan," he replied. "See you, Liz."

"See you," Liz said, her eyes lingering on him as he stepped into the hall. The door closed behind him, and Peter headed out into the snowy night, a grin tugging at his lips as he replayed the evening in his mind.