Page 248 of Untouchable

“I jus’ wanted to say thank you,” Parker mumbles. “For… being… a good human.”

Maybe Parker had planned to say something more articulate, but he’s already half-asleep again.

A few moments later, Harp finds Gil crouched in the kitchen.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," he says. "I don't think your dog likes me."

Harp puffs a laugh. He just likes Parker more, he thinks, scooping Bo up. "Do you need help with something?"

Gil straightens out and chews his bottom lip. "I thought I could get dinner started."

"You don't even know what we're having."

"Well. No, but. You have a metric shit ton of garlic in that pantry and I found a loaf of bread and nobody doesn't like garlic bread," Gil says, shrugging. "Oh my God. Please tell me Parker isn't gluten free?"

Harp shoots him a warning glance. "No. He puts away garlic bread with the best of 'em."

“Okay, well, it’s a start,” he says, going into the pantry and pulling out the supplies. “Everything in Portland is gluten-free. Or vegan. Usually both. It’s all sustainable this and locally sourced that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love it. Portland is so far up its own ass, but like, that’s probably why I fit in so well.”

Harp snorts. "At least you're aware of it."

"So what are you making? Can I help?"

Harp assesses him warily. He almost wants to tell Gil to sit down and just talk because the last time Gil had tried to do anything in the kitchen it had been disastrous. But he appreciates the offer.

"Sure. We're making spaghetti. Grab the big pot to the right of the oven under the counter there."

“Spaghetti? What happened to Mr. Braised Lamb Shanks with an Apricot Reduction? I thought you would have pulled out all the stops for me.”

He pretends to pout and for a moment looks uncannily like Parker when Parker is goofing around.

Good god, there’s two of them, Harp thinks.

"Maybe I would have if you'd have given me more notice."

"Touché. Well, maybe I should've said I thought you would've pulled all the stops out for your boyfriend. But wait—don't tell me—spaghetti is his favorite, right?"

Harp frowns and tries to hide his dismay at the lucky guess.

“Oh my god,” Gil drawls. “Seriously?”

“Gil,” Harp says in a warning tone. “Enough.”

“Okay, but you know what I’m thinking, which means you’re thinking it too—”

“Stop,” Harp snaps. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I can tell it’s mean.”

Gil lets out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, fine, fine, I’ll play nice. Where is he, anyway?”

"He's still sleeping upstairs. I don't think he really doesnaps."

Gil glances at the clock on the oven and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I think at this point, it’s moved into coma territory.”

Harp does the same math that Gil is doing and realizes with an illicit little thrill that Parker certainly hasn't been sleeping this whole time.

"I'll get him up when things are ready. The sauce takes a little while. And how long should I leave for your garlic bread?" Harp asks with a raised eyebrow.

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