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

“Am I done now?” I ask.

“I’m trying to make a TV show,” Beck reminds me. “But fine. Yes, you can go.”

I stand and give Sara Claire a high five, tagging her in as she goes to take my spot.

“Have I mentioned how hot you look tonight?” she asks.

“Thanks.” I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress. Tonight I went for a vintage black-and-white polka-dot shift dress with a high scarf neck that ties off to the side into a huge bow. It was originally long and shapeless, but I nipped it in a little around the chest and cut it into a mini, and now with my hair swept into a high bun, I’m a ’60s dream come true. Of course, my shoes are the real showstoppers. Authentic 1968 Montgomery Ward coral platform wedge T-strap Mary Janes, straight from eBay to my heart.

When Addison saw me, she actually laughed and said, “You’re just so quirky. Like a cute little librarian.”

She meant it as a diss, but news flash, Addison: Librarians are hot. Look at Stacy.

On the other side of the courtyard, I see Henry sitting next to Addison as he nods along and she laughs at her own jokes. I throw back a quick glass of chardonnay and march over there. If there’s any girl’s time I’m comfortable crashing, it’s hers, and if Beck is trying to make a TV show, I can at least give her something to work with.

“She’s on the move,” I hear someone call. “Camera on Cindy.”

I don’t even have to turn around to feel a whole crew at my back.

“Cindy,” Henry says as I approach the gazebo, where another camera and full lights are waiting.

Addison doesn’t even look up at me as she does her best to pretend that I don’t exist.

“Addison, sweetie, could I steal him for a moment?” I say in my sweetest voice.

“Oh!” She bounces to attention. “Sure…. Not for too long, though.” She stands, still holding Henry’s hand as she wiggles a finger at him with her other hand. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

He gives her a smarmy grin. “I have no doubt.”

“No doubt,” I mimic under my breath as she walks off.

He clears his throat. “Excuse me?”

I choke on a laugh as I remember the cameras, the lights, and the fact that Henry and I aren’t even supposed to know each other that well and people who don’t know each other don’t usually tease each other like that.

“Nothing,” I say, knowing full well that every mic picked that up. And I’m pretty sure Henry did too.

I sit down beside him, and a junior producer hands me another drink, but I don’t think I need any more loosening right now.

Henry clinks his glass to mine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“So what made you leave your life behind to come on a show like this?”

I snort. “Starting out with the heavy hitters, huh?” I loop a loose strand of hair behind my ear, taking a moment to regain my composure. “I wouldn’t say I was leaving a whole life behind. I guess you could say I’m in between things. At a crossroads.”

“What kind of things? Boyfriend-shaped things?”

My cheeks immediately flush with heat as I shake my head. “Um…I’ve actually been single for quite a while.” I dated Jared, a poli-sci major from NYU, for half of freshman year and all of sophomore year. He was the kind of guy who always said he was fiscally conservative and was constantly exhausting people by playing devil’s advocate. Sierra threw me a party when I broke up with him. “What about you?”

“I’ve…dated. But nothing serious for a while. At least no one I’d bring home to Mom just yet.”

My eyes light up at the mention of his mom. I have so many questions. “Your mom, huh?”

“Ah, that’s right,” he says. “The fashion student with a passion for shoes.”

“Guilty.”

He leans back and stretches an arm out behind me. “What about fashion drew you in?”

The corners of my lips twitch, as I’m unsure how to play this. There are lots of answers to this question, and I’m a little scared to share anything too precious—not just with Henry, but with the whole wide world. My relationship with my work at the moment is fragile at best. I’m not sure it could stand the scrutiny of a television audience. But…something about Henry’s unmoving, stable gaze compels me.

“Ever since I was a kid, I loved the way that clothing could transform you. I’ve…I’ve always been fat. Plump as my dad used to say. And people are so quick to make up their minds about me before I even open my mouth. My style is a chance for me to express myself and to maybe even make someone rethink their snap judgment. But that’s just a small part of it. I love the lines. I love that it’s art you can wear. I hate how inaccessible and distant art can feel, but you can walk into Target and walk out dressed as a piece of art. That’s something almost anyone can do.” I laugh a little to myself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to drone on like that.”

“No.” He shakes his head as his thumb grazes the back of my neck, sending a wave of chills down my spine. “I…I’ve been around this industry my whole life, and it’s easy to feel burned out. Fresh perspective like that can be invigorating.”

“What about you?” I ask.