Page 49 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Still, I see her calculating eyes.Who is this tall man, and what is he to you?

A friend,I try to silently convey.

A naked friend?her arched brow seems to ask.

I roll my eyes, refusing to continue this conversation and glancing away so she doesn’t see me blush.

Erin doesn’t notice any of it. Her eyes widen as Sal passes her the stuffed snow fox. “I hear you’re fond of these.”

She giggles, hugging the toy. Grandma’s shoulders drop an inch—tentative approval earned. For now.

I exhale—first hurdle cleared.

Erin starts in on her area of expertise. “They’re my favorite land animal. They have fur on the soles of their feet, which is unusual for most mammals, even those that live in their habitat, the Arctic. They’re opportunistic eaters too—berries, eggs, carrion, anything they can digest. Sometimes, they hunt in packs, but mostly solo.”

Sal sits with rapt attention, hanging on her every word. “Why are they your favorite land animal?”

“They’re so flexible, you know what I mean? They’re real survivors.”

He nods sagely. “Admirable qualities.”

“What’s your favorite land animal?”

“Hmm…”

I cut in. “I don’t think Sal has a favorite land animal?—”

“Beavers,” he interrupts.

I might die. Is he…is that a euphemism? I’m frozen in the moment, wishing it would end.

Erin asks, “Why beavers?” with all the innocence of a child.

Don’t say something pervy. You are too old for that?—

“They’re utterly resourceful. When they come to an area that would be a good home, they build it from the ground up, no architect, no foreman. They simply get to work, and they don’t stop until they’re done. The ponds and lodges they build end up being great resources for other animals, as well.”

Erin smiles, and so do I. I should have had more faith that he wasn’t about to say something inappropriate. My sister asks, “What’s your favorite water animal?”

This goes on for a while, and the whole time they talk about animals, I’m pretty sure Erin’s building a little crush on Sal. I’ll allow it. This is the most engaged I’ve seen her in a long time.

After an hour of animal trivia and hospital Jell-O reviews, a nurse ushers Erin to radiology for pre-op scans. Grandma Judy follows, but pulls me aside in the hallway first. Her brave face slips the moment Erin is out of earshot.

“Honey, I’m grateful the money arrived,” she whispers, twisting her ring. “But anesthesia, ICU, rehab lodging—these extras stack up. And Dr. Shah says we’ll need an adaptive van if Erin can’t regain full leg strength.”

The new totals scrawl across my mind like a tab I can’t pay. Even with Moretti money, unseen costs loom.That’s why I’m here,I remind myself. I grip Grandma’s hand. “We’ll handle it. Just focus on tomorrow.”

She searches my face—mothering instinct alive and well. “You sure this consultant job is legit?”

My smile wobbles. “As legit as anything ever is.”

Before she can probe, a volunteer cart full of storybooks jingles by. Grandma excuses herself, leaving me alone with a fresh load of guilt.

I lean against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut. The auction, the contract, Pietro’s threats—they blur into noise compared to the surgical countdown clock overhead.

Warmth brushes my arm. Sal is suddenly beside me, offering a paper cup of coffee.

“Heard part of that,” he says quietly. “Adaptive van, extended rehab—consider them done.”

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