It's a pretty easy gig, all things considered. Cook things that are easy to prep a few times a week in between shifts at the Admiral Benbow and catering for rich people and weddings. More important than easy, it's regular. He's never been one for cooking fancy, always preferring taste over expensive ingredients and pomp and circumstance, and while those incredibly fancy dinners he can whip up are quite the moneymakers, it's nice to shut your brain off as you head into a place where you can just cook.

He's been working for a fancy caterer as a side gig which is what landed him this in the first place: he talked to someone who talked to someone else who casually overheard one of the Bridgertons (fancy people, Silver's come to recognize) that they were looking for someone to help cook for their poor son. Silver, of course, slid himself right into that conversation. Even managed to get them to do it without a background check. You can be the best cook in London and still die poor courtesy of not knowing the right people.

So he's at a rather posh area of town, the place he caters but would never dream of living. The doorman lets him in without a single thought, seeing the groceries in both of his arms, and even helps him all the way up to the door. He knocks for Silver and opens it for him, too, so when the cook enters it's with both of his arms full and a quick polite muttered 'thank-you.'

There's no one there right away--Silver's used to someone immediately hovering with private gigs like this, and so he calls out a bright 'hello' as he takes in the place. Nice. Huge. The amount of things he could (and would) have stolen once upon a time just casually lying around here is unfathomable.

Instead, he spies the other across the extremely large room and offers another smile, bright, confident and friendly. First impressions are everything.

"You could only be Benedict," he says cheerily. "Your doorman went ahead and let me in."