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

I claim the first row of coach just behind Henry in the last row of first class. He stretches back a few times, rustling the curtain between us. We’re so close it’s maddening. Midway through the flight, when almost everyone else is passed out, a small notebook slides out in between my feet. I reach down to find Henry’s notebook.

Written there beside the lipstick kiss I left him a few weeks ago it now reads: Walkie-talkie date night tonight?

I dig a pen out of my bag and write back: Affirmative. Cabbage Patch.

I reach forward, holding the notebook, and squeeze my hand through the narrow gap between his seat and the window.

His hand catches mine, and he holds on for one, two, three, four, five seconds before taking the notebook and letting go.

When we land at a private airport in Westchester, we’re loaded into a few Suburbans. I find myself dozing as we make the drive into the city. Eventually, we stop in front of a hotel near the Battery. When the valet opens the passenger door, I step into a warm flood of light from the hotel sign above that reads THE WAGNER.

We’re left to congregate in the hotel lobby while Wes and Beck check us and the whole crew in, like they’re our senior trip chaperones.

For the first time all day, Henry is left unguarded, and I’m the only one who seems to notice. Every other woman is either trying to look like an Instagram model for one of the camera guys grabbing some B-roll, or they’re crowded around half a copy of yesterday’s contraband newspaper someone left out beside the fruit bowl.

Mallory and Zeke, who should be guarding Henry, are bickering over tomorrow’s schedule as Henry wanders into the gift shop.

When no one’s looking, I follow him inside. I find him shaking a few snow globes and then marveling at them as he sets them back down to watch the snow fall.

“Kind of a different sort of flight than our first one together,” I say.

He startles a little at the sound of my voice, but his whole expression eases when he sees me, a smile twitching in his jaw. “Hey there, Cabbage Patch.”

“I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks since we left.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on it a little so that it looks nice and rustled. Somehow, he’s managed to look disheveled in a sexy way after a six-hour flight. “I think about that day a lot.”

I take a step closer to him, so that we’re both hidden by a tower of teddy bears in I ♥ NY T-shirts. “Regret getting on that flight?”

He frowns. “It’s not the flight I regret.” He reaches out to my hand dangling at my side and links his pinkie with mine, and it feels like my whole pounding heart is right there, living in my little finger. And despite my whole body feeling this one small touch, things also seem normal in this moment. Like two people who just randomly met and hit it off standing in a hotel gift shop together surrounded by tacky souvenirs and glittering snow globes.

“I went looking for you today,” I tell him. “I was trying to help Anna find you, but then suddenly we had an elimination ceremony going on and…well, you know the rest.”

He smiles. “I saw her with Zeke last night on my way back to my room. At least someone was getting some action.”

“Oh…well, you were a good sport.”

“What else was I supposed to say? The premise of this whole show is—” He stops and something seems to dawn on him, like the fact that he doesn’t really know much about how I feel about this show and what reasons I’m here for.

“It’s ridiculous,” I say. “You can say it.”

“I was going to say ludicrous, actually.”

“Henry?” a voice calls. It sounds like Mallory. “We’ve got you all set up in a suite.”

“Shit,” he mutters.

I duck around the corner of the display and shoo him forward, and here I am, hiding once again.

He doubles back and bends down, pressing his lips to my forehead and murmuring, “What I wouldn’t do for ten minutes alone with you.”

My stomach knots into a bow as I wait a few minutes before I slink out of the gift shop, where the annoyed attendant is waiting to roll down the metal grate. “Sorry,” I tell the stout old man.

“There she is!” Beck waves me over and shepherds me toward the elevators with the rest of the girls before shoving a key in my hand.

I glance down at the shiny red card. “Who am I bunking with?”

“No one,” she tells me. “Don’t thank me. Thank the hotel. They messed up on the reservation and comped us a few extra rooms.”

I scoop her into a hug and let out an ecstatic yelp. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”

She pulls away from me and steps onto the elevator, rubbing the ear that was closest to the pterodactyl-excitement-screech noise that came out of my mouth. “Yes, I’m serious. In fact, all of you get your own room.”

The whole elevator full of women shrieks. I think Sara Claire might actually cry she’s so happy.

“And don’t get any funny ideas. We’re all taking turns monitoring the halls. The televisions have been removed from your rooms. You can order off the room service menu, and if you’re the kind of nut who needs to work out all the time, the hotel can bring you an in-room workout kit with weights and yoga something or another.”

“Oh my God,” someone behind me says—Chloe maybe? “I’m ordering a huge plate of french fries and chocolate ice cream to dip them in.”