“I won’t rat you out. We’ve just got to be careful, you know? Lots of kids running around today and parents who think the perfect photo op outranks safety.” He looked at Cooper curiously.

“My bad, this is my brother, Cooper,” Dean said. “And sorry, remind me of your—”

“Ryan. Ryan Basque.” They all shook hands. “I’m one of the curators here.”

“That’s like a head zookeeper, right?” Cooper asked.

“Yeah! Well, kind of. I oversee a couple of the exhibits,” Ryan said. He rolled his shoulders back, clearly proud.

“Sounds like a cool job,” Cooper said, and Ryan grinned. He had a very friendly face now that it wasn’t furrowed with suspicion. Beyond boyish. Puppy-like.

“The coolest. But I’ve always been in the animal business. I grew up on a farm. Led tours abroad.”

“Is this lady one of the exhibits you oversee?” Dean asked, gesturing toward the wolf enclosure.

“Nah, not my specialty. I was just driving by when I saw you running into the woods.” He reached up and tweaked one of the furry ears on his head. “Ryan the Lion is giving tours this afternoon. You guys want to sign up? You get to ride in the jungle cart.”

“I don’t—”

Dean interrupted Cooper to his dismay. “Sounds great!”

Ryan clapped his hands together excitedly. “Awesome! Get ready to take a ride on the wild side!”

“What happened to that thing you were saying about people bending over backward to make me happy,” Cooper murmured to Dean as they followed Ryan back to the paved path where a large, black-and-white striped golf cart was parked. “Just so you know, this doesn’t make me happy.”

“But complaining about it sure does. Along with helping your friend,” Dean said knowingly. “The path to happiness isn’t always the most direct.” Ryan honked the horn, and a sound like an elephant’s trumpet rang out. “And sometimes you’ve got to take the zebra-striped jungle cart to get there.”

That evening, as Cooper was pulling down the driveway of their new house, the first thing he noticed was a waist-high, rectangular box on their front porch.

And here, to kick off the third act, he thought, getting out of the car. On top of the day he was already having, Cooper really should have expected this to be the day it arrived. The emblem of his and Park’s interior decorating conflict. The keystone of their very healthy adult relationship compromise.

A floor vase.

“For umbrellas?” Cooper guessed when Park had pointed it out to him at a market.

“No. For decoration. In the foyer. You don’t like it?”

Over three feet tall, handmade, ceramic and glazed in a wash of deep blues and greens, it was...pretty. And pricey.