Page 139 of Untouchable

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Parker is happy.

Hell, he’s more than happy. He’s grinning so broadly his face hurts, and he feels like he might start singing and tap-dancing like he’s in a Broadway show. It’s not exactly how he expected to feel the morning after a holiday with his family.

Parker endures one more brunch with his parents and his sisters, and this time, he barely pays attention, staring off into space and smiling idiotically, thinking of Harp. He’s more thankful than ever that he told his mom he had to head back to Mink Creek on Friday. Spending time with his family would have been bad enough, but now Parker’s also desperate to see Harp as soon as he can.

He’s on the road by eleven, and the post-holiday traffic out of Denver isn’t bad at all. It had snowed the night before, and though the roads are clear, the world is still dusted with white, the naked trees stark and spiky in contrast.

He calls Harp.

* * *

Harp ison the front porch with a cup of coffee, watching the dogs frolic when he gets the call from Parker. It snowed overnight, just enough to make everything look soft and furred.

Harp doesn't rush to pick up the call. He takes a sip of his coffee and laughs fondly at the dogs. He can't recall a time when he was so... Peaceful.

When he picks up, it's with a smile on his face. "Hey, Parker."

“Hi,” Parker says, injecting more gusto into the single syllable than Harp ever thought possible.. “So, can I come see you today?”

Harp... expected this. He already has an answer ready.

"Don't know what the weather is like where you are, but the roads aren't supposed to be the best this weekend."

Parker immediately starts to protest and Harp overrides him. "But—but—" Harp says, laughing, "But my truck is up to it. I thought maybe I could come to town and see you on Sunday."

Parker squeaks. “Really? You’d do that?”

“Of course I would. I was ready to drive to Denver last night to kick your family’s ass, remember?”

“True,” Parker says with a laugh. “What time? Like, early, right?”

"Whenever you want. You tell me. You can pick out something for us to do together," Harp offers. He's got his fingers crossed that Parker won't pick something involving mortal danger or a huge crowd of people but... well, if Parker wants them to go hang gliding naked into the Sports Authority Field at Mile High at half time, Harp figures he might be up for it as long as they'll be together.

“I mean, I have plenty of ideas,” Parker says suggestively, but when Harp starts to respond, he cuts him off. “I know, I know—slow. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”

Parker pauses and Harp has visions of elaborate picnics and gorgeous hikes.

“It’s gonna be a surprise, okay?” Parker says, finally. “Maybe come at like… ten? Or earlier, if you want. Like eight. Or five. Or Saturday night. Or right now—I’m kidding.”

There's nothing Harp hates worse than surprises. He gulps coffee. He can almost come around to the idea of one if it originates with Parker, but the thought makes him nervous. If he doesn't have time to mentally prepare for what they're doing, it's entirely possible that Harp will be disappointing, or react wrong, or not react at all.

But Parker will be there, Harp reminds himself, and Parker had been able to calm him down and salvage his day on the morning of the not-a-fire.

"I'll come when you tell me," Harp says, finally. "How about that? On Sunday, I mean."

* * *

“Perfect,”Parker says happily. “It’s a date.”

And though Parker’s technically achieved the goal of his call, he finds himself reluctant to hang up. He’s still got a lot of road ahead of him, and Harp’s voice is infinitely more interesting to him than whatever top 40s radio station he’d been listening to otherwise.

Parker asks about how Harp celebrated the holiday. He asks about Gil in Portland. He asks about the dogs and the cows and the kittens, and the winterization projects Harp has planned—and Harp tells him all of this and more. Parker is smiling broadly as he drives, listening to Harp go on and on about some welding project he’d done last year that had started simple but ended up complicated, listening to Harp’s commentary on the last Hanya Yanagihara novel he’d read—listening to Harp talk about the things that were important to him.

And are, by extension, important to Parker, too.

And though Parker doesn’t understand all of it—especially the welding jargon and the prose analysis—he loves hearing it all. Simply by being with Harp, Parker is learning and growing.

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