IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY and a wedding party of nine—bride and groom Katie and Gary Ranweiler of Minnesota included—is gathered beneath the palms of Smathers Beach. Gary’s in a tuxedo and sandals; Katie’s in shimmering white and barefoot. Reverend Ronney Scott presides, his gray surfer-length hair windswept, the collar of his white shirt wide open. The sun glints off the Atlantic, a pleasant breeze blows and the late afternoon light is soft and warm. At the same time, a pelican splashes obnoxiously just beyond the shoreline, a very sweaty man lopes past and nearby South Roosevelt Boulevard provides an invasive, looping soundtrack of passing traffic.

But no one seems to mind. Scott is reciting the Apache wedding blessing that describes how, from here on in, each partner will shelter the other from rain, cold and loneliness. Gary’s eyes moisten. As Scott says, “If I can get a tear, I’ve done my job.”

While the Ranweiler wedding may not seem ideal, it actually comes pretty close— especially for couples who prize convenience over ostentation. For the past decade as owner of Chapel by the Sea, Scott has specialized in stress-free wedding packages like the Ranweilers’ “Barefoot Beach,” arranging venues, photographers, flowers and receptions. “[Our customers] are mostly people getting away from a big wedding, hoping to have a barefoot walk on the beach and relax,” says Scott, a minister of the Universal Life Church, an organization whose famously ultra-liberal “open ordination” policy enables pretty much anyone with an internet connection to preside legally over marriage ceremonies. (Noted ULC ministers include everyone from Johnny Carson to Hunter S. Thompson to Courtney Love.) Scott will also arrange denominated clergy upon request.

Business, it seems, is booming. Scott and his staff of planners, photographers and florists have coordinated about 7,500 marriages since the Chapel opened in 1996. Today, Scott will hitch three couples—a low number

for Valentine’s Day, he admits, but it was a Wednesday, after all. A weekend Valentine’s or some fortuitous alignment of the calendar, like July 7, 2007 (7/7/07), Scott says, could generate about 15 ceremonies in a single day.

Florida’s relaxed marriage laws, especially its willingness to issue marriage licenses (about 3,000 yearly in Monroe County alone) without a waiting period or blood tests, attract plenty of out-of-staters. Most of Scott’s ceremonies are planned in advance for Smathers Beach, Fort Zachary Taylor State Park or at hotels and resorts around town. At the same time, gay and lesbian commitment ceremonies have dropped from over 100 annually before the legalization of same-sex marriages in Massachusetts and of civil unions in Vermont, Connecticut and, recently, New Jersey, to 10 or 20.

In fact, the biggest draw of a Chapel by the Sea wedding may simply be the smooth, well-trained efficiency with which Scott stage-manages the entire event. Soon after the Apache blessing, about 10 minutes after the Ranweilers first kicked off their shoes and strolled to the shore, the event is a memory, and Scott’s photographer leads the couple to a nearby stone jetty, where the vast Atlantic makes a decent backdrop for a souvenir portrait.

“It’s just like at the courthouse,” says maid of honor Maria Evans of the brief ceremony. “Only prettier.” As the newlyweds return in time for cocktail hour, Gary’s eyes are dry and Katie beams contentedly. For them, it seems, the day has been perfect. Or, at the very least, they’ve done what they set out to do. “Some people get too caught up in the details. That’s not what this is about,” says Katie as she takes Gary’s hand. “It’s about the marriage, not the wedding.”