“It’s not that I’m opposed to inviting them,” Cooper finally said to Dean with relative honesty. “I just don’t even think they’d come. Weddings aren’t...really a thing for people like them. I don’t know if it’s really a thing for people like me either. Sometimes I think it would be simpler to just not do it at all and pretend we did.”

Dean whistled. “Don’t tell Dad that. He’s been working on his speech practically since the day you told us.”

Cooper stopped in his tracks, horrified. “Speech? No. Absolutely not. If you care about me at all, you won’t let that happen. God.”

Dean shrugged easily. “If that’s what you want, I’ve got your back. And god knows Sophe is always down for some covert sabotage.” He hesitated.

“But...” Cooper prompted.

“But I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dean said. “He’s proud of you. Happy you’re happy. Obsessed with Oliver, which is yeah, annoying, but we’re working on it, honest. What’s the harm in letting him do his little speech? Hell, let him say he loves you and knock the grand sum total of that rare event up to four per lifetime.” He smiled sheepishly. “Mmmm, ignore any projecting at the end there. But you’re getting married, Coop. Aren’t you—well, I mean, aren’t you excited?”

Cooper looked away from Dean and studied his own feet as they approached the next exhibit. They’d lagged farther and farther behind as they’d spoken, and the others were already disappearing down the American Trail with some speed, Cayla eager to see the sea lions’ feeding.

He wasn’t sure he could explain how he felt. Not even to himself, never mind to his brother, for whom life had always been fairly, well, straightforward. But Dean was looking at him with such genuine curiosity and patience, his dark eyes so like those of their mother’s, that Cooper had to give it a try.

“I’m excited to be married. I’m not excited to get married,” he said finally, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Every time I think about it and try to settle on some kind of plan, I feel...guilty.”

Dean looked confused.

“Guilty that we’re doing it all for me,” Cooper explained. “That if it was Oliver and another—and someone else like him, they wouldn’t be doing any of this at all.”

“Because werewolves don’t get married,” Dean said.

“Keep your voice down,” Cooper said, glancing around, a tad uncomfortable, but the only person around was a lone woman with a peroxide blond buzz cut standing a good thirty feet away at the next exhibit. Even as he eyed her, she turned her back to them and walked swiftly away.