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

He cracks a stiff half smile and sighs. “At least it’s good for something.”

The flight attendant strolls down the aisle with a drink cart, and Prince Charming orders himself a whiskey. “And whatever she wants,” he tells her.

The flight attendant practically preens in his direction.

I throw a hand up. “Oh, I’m fine with just ginger ale.”

“Oh, come on,” he says.

“Um, okay, just a champagne, then.”

The flight attendant fills my plastic cup to the top, and it might be crappy champagne, but at least they’re not skimping on it.

Once she moves on to the next row, he holds up his glass. “To missed flights and a transcontinental trip we might soon regret!”

I laugh and clink my cup against his. “To…that!”

For the rest of the flight, we both have our headphones in. I settle on old episodes of The Office, and he watches Terminator 2. (It doesn’t count as stalking if you’re sitting butt to butt with someone in economy, okay?)

When we land, almost everyone stands up the moment the fasten-seat-belt sign is turned off.

“There are two kinds of people in this world,” he says as he shoves his headphones into his bag. “The kind of person who stands up immediately no matter how close they are to the exit door and the kind of person who waits in their seat like a civilized human being.”

“Yes! Thank you!” I say. “This is my pet peeve.”

I peer over the row ahead of me to see King Bro elbowing his way into the aisle.

“Looks like we know what kind of guy your old pal is,” he says, nodding his head toward King Bro.

When it’s our turn to go, Prince Charming stands up and helps as many people who need it with their suitcases. He takes one look at my luggage tag shaped like a stiletto. “I’m guessing this one is yours.”

I laugh. “I’ve got a thing for shoes.”

I work my way out into the aisle, but when I turn back to see where my new Prince Charming friend is, I see that he’s stuck where I left him, still helping people with their bags. On the one hand, I find this very endearing, and on the other, I wonder how bad he is at setting boundaries in his everyday life.

Once I make it up the jet bridge, I race to the bathroom, because that champagne is going straight through me whether I like it or not.

When I make it out of the restroom, I wait for a few minutes, hoping to catch him. I didn’t even get his name. After I give up on finding him, I hoof it to baggage claim, where a row of drivers in full suits is waiting with iPads on display reading their passengers’ last names.

A tall bald white man in a black suit and sunglasses is waiting for me with a sign that reads TREMAINE.

I walk right up to him before he notices me. “Tremaine?”

“Oh yes, Ms. Tremaine?” he asks.

“Woods, actually, but Cindy is fine,” I tell him. “And you are?”

“Bruce Anthony Colombo the Third, but you can call me Bruce.”

“Good to meet you, Bruce. Are you new to Erica’s team?”

“I wouldn’t say new, but newly exclusive.”

Erica’s success has skyrocketed in the last four years, so it shouldn’t surprise me that she now has a private driver.

“I’ve got a luggage cart.” Bruce motions to the baggage claim. “Shall we?”

I smile sheepishly. “Um, you might need two of those.”

We stand there waiting for ages. (Tip for LAX first-timers: Never—I repeat—never check a bag. Sadly, I had no choice.)

“Stuck in baggage claim inferno, huh?”

I turn around to find Prince Charming, a little wrinkled from the long flight and hair rumpled from fingers running through it.

“You too?” I ask.

He points to his carry-on. “Just here to meet my driver.”

“Excuse me,” Bruce says, “Ms. Cindy, it seems that a piece of your luggage was damaged in travel. It appears to be duct-taped together, and I think we might need to speak with the airline. All these airlines are the same. Can’t even get a bag to the place it’s supposed to be in one piece.”

Damn it. I hope I didn’t lose a shoe. There’s nothing worse than an unmatched pair. “Oh, okay, yes, I’ll be right there.”

Prince Charming chuckles. “So that’s your name. Cindy.”

“I meant to introduce myself,” I tell him.

“Well, I’m Henry,” he says.

Bruce clears his throat. “It appears another bag—”

“You better take care of that,” Henry says.

I nod. “Yeah, well, nice to meet you, Prin—Henry. Thanks for saving me from the lava and the world’s worst seatmate.”

He nods. “And don’t forget the lost-and-found shoe service.”

“Never!” I call over my shoulder as I follow Bruce to the customer service desk.





Erica Tremaine is a household name in this town. When I was in tenth grade, the Hollywood Reporter dubbed her the new reigning queen of reality TV. Her specific flavor and real moneymaker is reality dating shows. She started out on a late-night MTV dating show in the early ’90s where one person drove a taxi around a major city while they went on a speed date with the person in the back. They picked up and dropped off multiple passengers, and at the end they picked the person they wanted to date. Things really took off for her when I was in middle school and she pitched a show called Before Midnight. Now she pilots an entire franchise, including Before Midnight and its various spinoffs.