32. Epilogue - Casey
February 25
I leaned against the kitchen counter of our somewhat crappy apartment, watching Matt fold his flannel shirts with surprising precision for a man whose idea of organization was usually "throw it in a drawer and hope for the best." His brow furrowed in concentration, strong fingers smoothing each crease with unexpected tenderness. Five months of living together in this shoebox Corvallis apartment, and I still found myself staring at him like some lovesick teenager, a blush creeping up my neck whenever he caught me looking.
"What?" Matt glanced up, a half-smile playing on his lips.
"Nothing," I said, trying to appear casual as I tossed a pair of socks into my already overstuffed suitcase. "Just appreciating the view."
Our kitchen barely deserved the name—a slim galley with counters on either side. There wasn't even room for two people to pass without turning sideways. But somehow, in the golden morning light streaming through our single window, with coffee brewing and Matt's humming filling the space, it felt like exactly where I wanted to be.
"You nervous about the wedding?" Matt asked, studying me. I knew he was working on communication, on checking in with me and my anxiety, and I appreciated that. I stepped forward and gave him a kiss, smiling up at him.
"Nothing to be nervous about. I've met all of these people half a dozen times since summer, right? And they think I'm fabulous."
"Casey," Matt said, grinning. "Be honest."
"I'm serious! Everything's better with you by my side. Mostly. Sadly, they won't let you sit next to me during my midterms next month, or my anxiety would be cured!"
Matt laughed, shaking his head. "So I could sit by your side while you drive us to Washington?"
"I said mostly. You're not a miracle drug!"
He laughed at that. "I swear, one of these days, we'll get you over your fear of driving."
"Not today, babe. Not today. So anyway, Ben and Sutton. Whatever happened to the Hawaii plan? I thought they were set on that."
Matt laughed, the sound warm and rich. "They decided on a Hawaii honeymoon instead. The wedding at Eagle Ridge makes more sense, since so many of their friends live near there. Wade is finished with the interior renovation on the lodge, and we're trying to market it as an events venue in the off-season, so we need some great photos."
"Look at you, it's like you’re a real businessman," I teased, reaching out to tug a strand of hair that had escaped his man bun.
"It's Sutton's idea as much as mine," Matt said, ducking away from my hand with a grin. "The old lodge has so much potential, and now that I'm in business school, Sutton and I have been able to talk through the things he learned about in college. That marketing degree of his is really paying off."
"I'm still mourning Hawaii," I grumped. "But I'm proud of you guys for finding a way to embrace change while staying true to your values, and not giving Walter a budget-related heart attack."
"Thanks, sweetie. And I, for one, will be happy to spend a long weekend back home," Matt said, zipping his duffel bag with a single smooth motion. "It's been too long."
"Two months is too long?" I laughed. "We were just there for Christmas."
"That's too long," he insisted, circling the kitchen island to stand between my dangling legs. He placed his hands on my thighs, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
"I hate to admit this out loud, but I can't wait until school is done and we can go back to your tiny house for good," I murmured against his neck, breathing in his familiar scent—pine and that ridiculously expensive sandalwood soap his stepmother kept sending him.
Matt pulled back, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. "Wait. Not the same house you called, and I quote, 'a glorified garden shed with pretensions'?"
"I did not!" I protested, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
"You absolutely did, Casey Kim. When you were in a rage about how long it was taking me to pack for Oregon."
"That was a stressful moment. Nothing I said counted," I mumbled. "Besides, it was before I realized how much I'd miss waking up next to you every morning with the sun coming through those big windows."
Matt's teasing smile softened, and he pressed his forehead against mine. "Who knew the sharp-tongued music major who got kicked out of that job fair for yelling at me would turn into such a romantic?"
"Shut up," I said, without heat. "That was completely unfair. They should have kicked you out, too!"
He burst out laughing and kissed my cheek. "I'll have a word with the organizers the next time they invite us to the fair.
I ran my fingers along the back of his neck, playing with the soft hair there. "We should get going if we want to make it in time for dinner."
"Is your dad cooking?" I asked hopefully. Walter Blackstone's cooking skills were legendary.
"Of course. He wouldn't miss the chance to feed everyone. Plus, I think he's excited that the lodge is getting its first test run as a wedding venue. He might even do a little catering." Matt stepped back, allowing me to hop down from the counter.
"True," I nodded, thinking of my own parents who'd been unexpectedly charmed by Matt over the past few months. Sometimes, I was sure they liked him better than me. I opened the fridge and took out a bag of restaurant takeout. "My mom was worried that you'd starve on the drive, so she packed your favorites. And probably none of mine. It's insane that you are the favorite."
"Your mom is a goddess," Matt said with reverence. "I've been dreaming about her braised tofu since New Year's. Do we have to drive Oliver?"
"He went up already, in the Prius." I laughed, zipping up my suitcase with considerable effort. "I can't believe even Oliver is going to the wedding."
"Does Oliver even like parties?"
"Hey, he contains multitudes," I defended. "Besides, I think he's actually excited about seeing the conservation area near the camp. Something about water quality research."
"Of course," Matt said dryly. "Nothing says 'party' like water samples."
I threw a rolled-up sock at him, which he caught easily. "Be nice. He's my brother."
"I'm always nice, and I love Oliver," Matt protested, looking offended. He gathered our bags—his single duffel and my enormous suitcase—and groaned dramatically. "Jesus, Casey, what did you pack in here? Your entire wardrobe?"
"A man needs options," I sniffed, grabbing my messenger bag. "I won't apologize for being fashion-forward."
"We're going to a camp in the woods for a weekend wedding, not New York Fashion Week," Matt said, but his eyes were fond as he struggled with my bag.
I followed him to the door, watching the muscles in his back flex under his t-shirt as he maneuvered the luggage. My boyfriend was ridiculously strong—years of hauling canoes and climbing equipment around Camp Eagle Ridge had given him a physique that still made me feel a little weak in the knees, even after months of waking up beside him every day.
"Keys, wallet, phone?" Matt asked, our standard departure checklist.
I patted my messenger bag. "All accounted for. Plus snacks for the road."
"You're perfect," he said, leaning in for a quick kiss.
"I know," I replied, locking the door behind us as Matt headed down the stairs with our bags.
The February air bit at my cheeks as we stepped outside, the sky a brilliant blue that seemed to mock the chill. Matt shouldered our bags with the casual strength that still made my stomach flip, his breath forming small clouds in the morning air. Our apartment complex was quiet at this hour, most students either still asleep or already gone to early classes, and the silence made the moment feel strangely intimate—just the two of us, setting off on another journey together.
Matt's Toyota 4Runner sat in its usual spot, the dark green paint gleaming under the winter sun. It was an older model, meticulously maintained, with a few battle scars that Matt insisted gave it "character." The vehicle had been with him since high school, hauling camping gear up mountain roads and teenagers to remote campsites.
"You sure you don't want to get a new car when we move back to Eagle Ridge permanently?" I asked, not for the first time, as Matt popped open the trunk.
"Susan has at least another hundred thousand miles in her," Matt replied, hefting my suitcase with a grunt.
"Did we not discuss giving your car a better name than Susan? How about, I don't know, Persephone?"
"Shh, don't let Susan hear that!" Matt gasped, hauling the trunk open. I stood back, watching the muscles of his back flex beneath his jacket as he maneuvered my suitcase into the cargo area. Matt was beautiful in a rugged, uncomplicated way that still caught me off guard sometimes—broad shoulders, strong hands, and that easy confidence that came from knowing exactly who he was and what he wanted.
I fought the urge to wrap my arms around him from behind, aware that we needed to get on the road. But I allowed myself a moment of simple appreciation as he efficiently arranged our bags, making room where it seemed impossible anything more could fit.
"Seriously, though," Matt said, sliding my backpack into a remaining crevice, "it's practical for the camp. And it's paid off."
"And sentimental," I teased, moving toward the passenger door.
"Maybe a little," he admitted, closing the trunk with a solid thunk. "We've been through a lot together, me and this car."
I climbed into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of pine air freshener and the faint undertone of whatever Matt used to treat the leather seats enveloping me. The inside of Matt's car was tidy for someone whose desk at home looked like a paper factory had exploded on it.
As Matt settled into the driver's seat beside me, I turned to face him. "So, how are your classes going? For real."
He sighed, hands resting on the steering wheel but not yet turning the ignition. "They're honestly so fucking boring, Casey. Business administration feels like eating dry toast every day for months."
I reached over and squeezed his knee. "That bad, huh?"
"It's not that I don't get it," he said, running a hand through his hair, dislodging it from its tie. "It's just... sitting still for hours, listening to some dude drone on about marketing strategies or accounting principles... my brain just wants to shut down."
I nodded, understanding. Matt had been diagnosed with ADHD as a kid, and classroom settings were particularly challenging for him, though he'd developed various coping mechanisms over the years.
"But you're doing well, right?" I asked.
"Well enough," he said with a half-smile. "Not setting any academic records, but passing. It helps when I can connect it directly to camp stuff. Sutton and I have been working on this five-year plan for the camp," he continued, backing out of the parking space. "And a ten-year projection too. With expense forecasts and profit predictions—all that boring shit they teach in those classes I hate."
His voice grew animated despite his complaints, and I smiled, watching his face light up. This was the Matt I loved—passionate and focused when talking about Camp Eagle Ridge, and I sat back, smiling and listening, as he rambled on about their beautiful plans for the camp, interjecting only to make sure my music and arts program was still being funded.
Which, of course, it was.