Nathaniel ignored her.
He looked directly at Lena.
“You make this?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
Lena frowned.
“Who else would have?”
One corner of his mouth moved.
Caroline spoke again.
“My lemon sponge has imported sugar and—”
Nathaniel reached inside his coat.
A gold coin appeared between two rough fingers.
He placed it on the wooden table.
Not gently.
Clang.
Every spoon and plate nearby jumped.
Conversation vanished.
Lena stared.
Twenty dollars.
She recognized the denomination immediately.
It was more than she earned in some months.
“You can't be serious.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Nathaniel looked at her.
“Usually am.”
“For one loaf?”
“No.”
Lena’s confusion deepened.
Nathaniel set the lid back on the Dutch oven.
Then lifted the entire pot with one hand.
“That’s the one I’m taking home.”
Caroline’s mouth opened.
Lena stared at him.
“That pot belongs to me.”
Nathaniel stopped.
A low murmur moved through the room.
He looked at the pot.
Then at Lena.
“Right.”
He placed it back.
“Bread only.”
“Preferably.”
He nodded.
Another corner of his mouth moved.
Perhaps amusement.
Then his expression became serious again.
“You got a coat?”
Lena thought she had misheard.
“Yes.”
“Get it.”
Her fingers tightened around her apron.
“Why?”
Nathaniel looked toward the doorway.
Snow swirled beyond it.
“Because you're coming with me.”
The room erupted.
Not loudly.
Whispers.
Gasps.
Someone actually dropped a fork.
Caroline stared at Nathaniel as though he had spoken another language.
Lena did not move.
“What?”
Nathaniel reached inside his coat again.
This time he pulled out a folded packet of paper bound with twine.
He placed it beside the gold coin.
“Black Ridge has eighty men through February.”
Lena looked at the papers.
“We've lost two cooks since November.”
“Lost?”
“One quit.”
“And the other?”
“Broke his hand.”
Lena almost smiled.
Nathaniel continued.
“I need bread every day.”
“Stew.”
“Breakfast.”
“Food that keeps men working in cold.”
He nodded toward the Dutch oven.
“This is the first thing I've tasted in months that wasn't designed to impress somebody.”
Caroline’s face went rigid.
Nathaniel untied the packet.
A contract.
Lena recognized numbers before she understood anything else.
Six hundred dollars.
Her breath caught.
“For the winter?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Room included.”
“Supplies provided.”
“You'd supervise the kitchen.”
“Two helpers.”
“Full authority over food orders within budget.”
Lena stared.
Six hundred dollars.
It was not wealth by the standards of men like Nathaniel Reid.
To Lena, it was transformation.
She could pay every debt.
Purchase equipment.
Rent a proper storefront in spring.
Perhaps buy property.
A small bakery.
Something with her name above the door.