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“Of course. It’s romantic.”

“It’s six inches from dry eucalyptus. It needs a foot.” He sets it on the end of a pew. Then he looks up at the arch, and the windows, and both sets of doors at the back, and the little side door by the organ with an EXIT sign that doesn’t light up.

“Are you fire-inspecting the wedding?”

“Somebody should.”

He borrows my clippers and trims the eucalyptus back until there’s a foot of clear space around the glass. “Rob says it’s always the candles. Weddings, Christmas, Grandma’s birthday. Never the wiring. The candles.”

“Rob says that because Rob set a tablecloth on fire at Rocco’s Pizza.”

“Yeah. That’s how he knows.”

Darla comes down the aisle with her hands clasped. “Is there a problem?”

I open my mouth to say no.

“No, ma’am,” Travis says. “Just making sure your candles sit far enough from the greens. Wouldn’t want anything to spoil the day.”

Darla looks at him like he just offered to walk her down the aisle himself. “Well. Aren’t you thoughtful.”

“He’s a firefighter,” I tell her.

“Of course he is,” Darla says, and hurries off to tell somebody.

He does it fourteen times, once for every centerpiece, a snip here and there. All while he doesn’t wreck one of my designs.

When he’s done, I go down the pews where the arrangements are sitting and check his work. I like them better.

He looks at me with a cocky gleam in his eyes and I send him back to the van for the bride’s bouquet.

At 3:52 everything is perfect. The arch is gorgeous. The bouquets are in buckets of water in the bride’s room.

The flower girl, who is four, has decided Travis is her best friend and is holding his pinky finger and telling him about her cat.

“His name is Mr. Pumpkin,” she says.

“That’s a good name.”

“He’s orange.”

“Orange cats are the best cats.”

“Do you have a cat?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Travis looks at me over her head with an expression of mild panic.

“He’s thinking about it,” I tell her. “He just moved.”

“You should get an orange one,” she says sternly, and lets go of his finger to go show her mother her basket.

We walk out to the van at 3:58. Guests are starting to arrive in the front lot. Travis closes the back doors of the van and turns around. He still has the boutonniere on. His sleeves are still rolled up, and he looks so fine I blush.

“What’s that look for?”