About a year ago I fell in love with a florist. Let’s just say I had no idea what I was in for. I was a proud bachelor living in a little cabin house. I didn’t care much for gardening and thought roses were the only type of flower there was. Watering my succulent once a month was about as much work as I was ready for on the whole green thumb side of things. It was not long until I was building a garden in the front yard for her. I learned about ranunculus and dahlias and irises. Now I find flower petals in my pockets on a regular basis. There are dried flowers all over our house. There are clippers in every drawer and in the car and in her purse and my jacket pocket.

On Friday night’s we dress in black, but we don’t go to fancy restaurants or rooftop parties instead we sneak through our neighborhood clipping the hydrangeas and passion vines we’ve been eying all week, our “just in case we didn’t order enough” stash, she says. She always orders too much.

Truth be told I love every minute of it. I love our drives through Napa Valley or Paso Robles to the wedding venues. I love coming home to flowers all over the house. Most of all, I love how excited Addison gets when she has extra flowers. She makes arrangements for our neighbors or brings them to our favorite café.

To her a flower has endless possibilities, a flower is a piece of a puzzle, a small yet integral character in the wondrous story she’s telling. Her work brings her and everyone around her joy.

There’s nothing I would change in our wild little life. Of course, when she’s gone for days on end working long hours and comes home exhausted I wish we had the money to take a long vacation. We could sip cappuccinos and watch the evenings pass in the piazza. But when I see her face light up as she gives the bride her bouquet and styles the tables and pins a mini boutonniere on the little ring barer, I understand there’s no place she’d rather be. As for me, it doesn’t matter where she goes, there’s no place I rather be than by her side.

If you stop by the house on my day off you’ll probably find me out in the yard covered in soil wrestling my shovel out of my puppy’s mouth, my beer warming in the sun, and the flowers I’ve just planted for her blooming at my feet.