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Someone wheeled the piano from the sitting room, and Kenny is playing as Brian and Devon take seats at the back, their plane having been delayed. Once they’re seated, Kenny changes tunes, and the kitchen door opens.
Storm appears first. Someone behind the door whispers to her, and she comes trotting toward me, her head high, a crown of white flowers on her head. People laugh and snap photos.
Jacob puts his hand out, and Storm comes over to sit beside him.
Next, April appears in a long navy-blue dress. She walks as if she’s wearing spike heels instead of flat shoes, each step taken with extreme care. Guess I’m not the only one worried about screwing this up. Her eyes meet Kenny’s, and he beams at her, and she seems to relax, chin lifting in proper April-style as she strides down the center aisle.
She’s halfway to me before Casey steps into the doorway.
“Oh, just something simple,” she’d insisted when Émilie wanted to talk about a wedding dress. “Whatever I can buy online.”
That’s when Émilie insisted on looking after it, as her gift to us. The dress arrived yesterday, and itissimple, but Casey has joked about reselling it to pay for the new bakery. It’s ivory, off the shoulder with a V neckline and a long flaring skirt. I say that as if I know dresses, but I’m just parroting Isabel. There’s a veil, too, tucked back and flowing along the ground. Casey’s hair is straight, falling over her shoulders, and my heart stops, some voice inside me screaming that I’m imagining this, that I’ve imagined all of it, that I’m going to wake back in Rockton, the last two years gone.
Casey glances over; our eyes meet, and my heart rate decelerates. I smile—probably grinning like a fool—as she walks down the aisle, Will gesturing for her to slow down to let people get pictures.
Finally, Casey is at the podium, facing me, and I know the officiant is talking, but I don’t hear it. I see only her standing there, until it’s time for the vows.
We wrote our own, together. Yeah, I’m sure some people would rather surprise the other, but we’d both worry that we’d miss something the other included, so we wrote them as a back-and-forth. A private conversation and a private declaration made public.
Casey turns to our guests. “Eric wanted to just say that we vow to keep doing what we’ve been doing, which seems to have worked.”
“And then Casey would say, ‘Same,’” I say, which gets a laugh.
“But we figured you guys expect more. So here goes.” She faces me. “I vow to keep doing what we’ve been doing.”
“Same,” I say.
“I vow to be the partner you want and need me to be,” she says. “To be there for you. Always.”
“Whether it means standing firmly by your side,” I say, “or telling you when you’re wrong.”
A soft laugh from the audience.
“Or calling you on your bullshit,” she says, to more laughter. “I vow to give you all the space you need and to recognize that I need some, too.”
“I vow to have your back, even when you don’t need it, and to step aside when I’m getting in your way.”
“I vow to support your dreams and to know that I can have my own.”
“And I vow to makesureyou have your own,” I say. “We are partners—in work, in life, in love—but we are separate people, too.”
“Separate people who’ve chosen to spend their lives together.” Casey’s gaze lifts to mine. “I want to grow old with you, Eric Dalton. I want to be sitting on our front porch, fifty years from now, drinking my coffee while you yell at everyone to stay off your lawn.”
“I want to grow old with you, too, Casey Duncan. To sit on that porch and keep your plate full of cookies while you tell me to stop being such a hard-ass.”
“I want it all,” she says. “I want to be greedy and have you—haveus—for the rest of my life.”
“Same.” I lock gazes with her. “Til death do us part.”
She rises up and brings her lips to mine. “Til death do us part.”
* * *
The wedding is over.The dinner is over. Everyone’s outside now, the party spilling out there as the dancing gives way to a bonfire.
“There’s something I need to do after this,” I whisper to Casey as I hand her a stick for the bride and groom’s first official marshmallow roasting.
“Of course,” she whispers back. “And if this is all getting to be too much, feel free to slip out.”
