Free Wedding Girl by Stacey Ballis Page A

tighten into perfect spheres. “You’re going to all the trouble of keeping it secret so that it can be what you want, so I say embrace it fully.” I grab a small sheet pan, sprinkle a layer of semolina on the bottom, and gently arrange the rolls on top. I brush them with egg wash and toss on a little coarse pretzel salt before marking them with an X and adding the pan to the proofing box.
    â€œWhat else?”
    I brush the excess flour off the table and head over to the sink to wash my hands. “Do you and Brian have any traditions or habits that are personal to you?”
    Amelia thinks about this. “Well, anytime I take a bath he brings me a glass of milk and a little plate of Chips Ahoy.”
    â€œAwesome! So towards the end of the evening, have your servers pass platters of warm chocolate chip cookies and little glasses of milk. Maybe add some vanilla and a little bit of sugar to the milk; with straws could be cute . . .”
    â€œOh my god, I love that idea!”
    â€œIs there anything else like that you do for each other?”
    â€œHe has really sensitive skin, and in the winter his hands and lips get really rough and chapped, but most of the store-bought stuff causes him to break out, so I make these custom coconut oil balms and lotions for him and stash them all over the place. And he brings me splits of champagne anytime he knows I’ve had a long day.”
    It is clear to me that this girl has pretty deep pockets. I swallow the jealousy that is pricking my brain and keep going. “So what would you think about making a bunch of sets of your custom products to give to your guests as they leave? A little gift bag with a lip balm and some hand cream with a note encouraging hand-holding and kissing? Maybe with a little bottle of champagne with a custom label?”
    Extravagant gift bags like these were absolutely a part of my madness; I’ll be paying for them for the rest of my natural life, but that doesn’t make them a bad idea if one can actually afford them.
    Her eyes pop open. “You’re a genius, you know that?”
    â€œI do what I can.”
    We head back out of the kitchen to the front, and I take all her information down, run a deposit of $500 on her credit card, and then write down my email address on the back of one of Herman’s business cards.
    â€œIf you need anything else, just holler. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch to confirm delivery details the week before the wedding.”
    She grabs me in a hug, surprisingly strong for such a wee pixieof a girl. “You are the best. Are you sure I can’t hire you as my wedding planner?”
    I shake my head. “No can do. I’m more comfortable in the consultant arena . . . I don’t actually want to do what I propose; I just want to propose it.”
    â€œWell, your consultancy makes me feel like I have a handle on this whole thing, so don’t dismiss the value of offering good advice.”
    â€œI’m very glad to be of help. And, Amelia?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWant a cupcake for Brian?”
    â€œWhat do you think?”

    â€œSomething smells different in here,” Herman says, reappearing promptly at three thirty, one cheek subtly patterned in the herringbone of his couch.
    â€œI did a little experiment,” I say, handing him one of my rolls.
    He pulls the roll apart, and I’m pleased to hear the crackle of the crust. He sniffs the interior and then takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. His eyes light up.
    â€œThis is wonderful, Sophie, just wonderful! What are they?”
    â€œJust something I was noodling with. I started with the basic rye dough and then fancied it up a little.”
    â€œWell, it is delicious. Fennel?”
    â€œYes. And aniseed.”
    â€œThe orange is good, keeps it fresh and from going too perfumed. The raisins work well. But the salt is what makes it, truly. It wants butter or cream cheese most