If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

“Erica,” I say firmly. “I know what I am. It’s fine. But is that why? Is that why you told Beck no?”

Her lower lip quivers for a moment and then she bites it, holding it in place. “Cin, the moment those girls walk into that château, they become internet fodder. I know you’re beautiful and perfect, but others might not be so kind. I can’t guarantee you any kind of special treatment once you’re at the château. Cameras start rolling and that’s it. I don’t think I could live with myself knowing that your father left me to take care of you, and I let you become just another thread on Reddit about why some loser hates…plus-size people.”

Something inside me bucks against that notion and says that I shouldn’t have to alter my life because of some internet troll’s opinion. But then again, I would never in my life go on this show. I have zero desire to be a part of something like that. One guy dating you plus twenty other women at once? No, thank you. And there’s something about Erica being protective of me that makes me feel wanted and safe. Like family. Real family.

“You know I’d never go on a show like that anyway. No one finds the love of their life on a reality TV show.” On a plane…maybe. Definitely not on a helicopter. I smile to myself and then dip my head down so I don’t look like some kind of daydreaming idiot.

Erica laughs, obviously relieved to change the subject. “Such a skeptic, aren’t you? What ever happened to magic? Fairy tales? Fate?”

I scoff. “I think fairy tales might be more like cautionary tales than anything else. And fate is just an excuse for people to be inactive participants in their own lives.”

We go back and forth like that for a while longer, laughing and talking about true love and statistical probabilities and nightmarish reality TV stars. I almost tell her about my random little meet-cute on the plane, because I know she’d eat that up, but soon I’m yawning so hard that my eyes are watering and I have to go to bed.

We say good night, and Erica gives me a kiss on the forehead as she whispers about how happy she is to have me at home. I can’t help but wonder if it’s because she loves me so much or the help I’m going to provide with the triplets. Either way, as I walk into the pool house and take a glance at the canopy of twinkling lights over the beautiful backyard, I can’t help but feel like this place isn’t my own. It’s just another stop on a long search for home.





“Mommy said not to wake her up!” a squeaky voice says.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” another says. “If we don’t wake her up now, she’ll sleep until dinner.”

“I’m hungry,” a third pipes in.

My speech comes out all garbled, so what I mean to say is I’ll be right there, but what I do say is “Bright bear.”

I force my eyes to open, but after sleeping so hard, even that simple act is dizzying. If it’s already lunchtime in LA, it might as well be happy hour in New York.

“I think she’s awake,” Gus whispers.

I smile at the sound of his voice. “I can hear you three.” Sitting up in bed, I let out a long stretch. “Is it too late for breakfast? I was really hungry for brain cereal!”

Gus and Jack shriek and run back to the main house with Mary stomping behind them. “Cindy doesn’t eat brains!” she tells them.

After I brush my teeth and spray some dry shampoo in my roots, I pop open my trunk to choose a pair of shoes. I don’t have many rules, but the first and most important among them is: shoes first.

I settle on my black Comme des Garçons Converse high-tops from the PLAY series with a red heart with eyes creeping up the side, and grab a yellow-checkered sundress from my carry-on that I managed to snag at a little plus-size resale shop in Brooklyn.

My first day as a nanny isn’t really a first day since it’s Saturday and Erica made me promise to sleep in. (Apparently, I’m a woman of my word.)

What I don’t expect when I walk toward the kitchen is to find Anna and Drew frantically planning an epic shopping trip while they guzzle pressed juice. Erica is sitting at the formal dining room table with two laptops and three phones. Beside her is Beck, who looks like she definitely did not sleep since I last saw her.

“Whoa, did I just walk into mission control?”

“Good morning! Good afternoon!” says Erica.

“We brought you a green juice,” says Anna, not looking up from her iPad as she and Drew map out their plan of attack.

“Oooh, thank you,” I say, though I think I might need something a little more substantial than pressed juice.

I find the triplets with their noses pressed to screens while they play games and watch videos on YouTube of other kids playing with toys—something I’m not sure I can actually wrap my head around. “Okay, who wants some grilled cheese?”

The three of them turn to me, practically drooling.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I head into the kitchen, making sure to crack open my green juice, and start an assembly line of bread, cheese, and mayo. (Mayo is better on grilled cheese than butter. Prove me wrong. I dare you.) Soon, the smell of the sizzling cheese creates an audience, and just like that I’m making eight sandwiches instead of four.

When Beck’s sandwich is almost ready, she settles onto a barstool opposite me on the other side of the island. “Erica tells me you’re designing shoes now?”