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

“I was lying about cheating off you,” he says. “I just wanted to be close enough to do this.”

His lips touch mine as the waitress begins to call off bingo numbers, and there aren’t many things I’d choose over dumplings, but this kiss would be it.





The next morning, we have an elimination on the runway of the Westchester private airport in front of a small luxury jet that we won’t actually be flying anywhere because not even a quarter of the crew would fit.

Henry and I walked around the city until the sun began to slowly crawl up the horizon. We got two bagels on our way back. I couldn’t decide between smoked salmon, cream cheese, and dill, or rainbow bagel with Nutella, so Henry insisted we get both and split them, which is basically my exact love language. Sierra says I’m indecisive, but I like to think I can make any meal tapas, so whatever person is willing to tolerate that might be my soul mate.

When we got back to the hotel, Henry snuck the doorman and the front desk clerk each a twenty and asked them not to mention to anyone that they saw us coming or going. We took the elevator to my floor, and I wish that we could have put a spell on the rest of the world to freeze time and anchor the moon in place. Everyone would just wake up a little more rested, and Henry and I would win more time together. Time. It’s the one thing he and I can’t seem to get enough of.

We held hands, walking as slowly as we could until just a few paces ahead of us, a door clicked, opening. Henry snaked an arm around my waist and pulled me across the hallway into a small room with an ice machine and a vending machine.

I ducked into the space between the ice machine and the wall, my hips just barely fitting, and Henry stepped in just after me. He hovered over me, tucking his head down and blocking out the light.

A person stepped into the little room, and the ice machine began to rumble to life. Henry arced backward for just a moment, and mouthed, Wes.

“Shit,” I said.

Henry’s hand swept up, pressing his finger to my lips.

I took his wrist and pulled his hand down, stretching up on my toes so that our lips were within grazing distance.

His fingers dug into my waist, and he sank even closer to me somehow, my back pressed flat against the wall.

Our mouths hovered, breath hot, as Henry’s hands drifted upward, grazing the band of my lace bralette. I gasped at the feeling of his touch so close and his lips crashed into mine, silencing me.

His mouth was urgent and tasted like hazelnut. All I wanted was to drag him into my room and then to wake up beside him and ask him all the questions my brain can’t stop asking.

And now, just hours later, standing on this runway, I can still feel the weight of his body against me and his hands traveling up my torso.

After I went back to my room, I slept for an hour and a half and woke up with my heart racing. Something happened last night between us, and suddenly, when I picture my future, I picture Henry there with me.

I can imagine us. Sleeping in late on Saturday mornings. Eating ramen together in the wee hours of the night. Going to little run-down hotels just so we can stay as close to the beach as possible. All I want is time with him. Just a little more time.

Henry calls my name, and then Sara Claire, and before long Gretchen and Valerie are the last girls standing, both of whom are sent home. Gretchen gives the producers the ugly-cry departure they’ve been waiting for while Valerie is stoic and doesn’t attempt to give Henry a hug goodbye.

Once they’re gone, Chad claps Henry on the back. “Should we tell them?” he asks.

Henry smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes revealing the little bit of concealer Ash must have put on him when he showed up this morning with bags under his eyes from a sleepless night. “Jenny, Addison, Sara Claire, Stacy, Chloe, and Cindy.” His voice hitches a little on my name, and my stomach explodes into a chorus of butterflies. “I think it’s time we take this international. I hope you’ve got your passports, because we’re going to the villas.”

Like the helicopter landing pad at the château, the villas in Punta Mita, Mexico, are a Before Midnight staple. Despite the fact that we all know it’s coming, it’s no effort to let out a shriek of surprise. A few years back, I remember Erica trying to drop the villas for a luxury train trip through Europe, but the logistics and cost were a nightmare. And as incredible as that sounds, I think that’s the kind of experience I want to save for after all this is said and done and it’s just Henry and me. And hopefully a hundred grand in cash.

Like in our last flight, there’s plenty of room to spread out and Henry is kept in first class. But as I board the plane, I hold my hand out slightly, hoping that he might catch it when I walk past. Playing coy, Henry doesn’t even flinch, but just ahead of me Zeke drops a bag of equipment as he’s trying to wedge it into an overhead bin and causes a traffic jam just long enough for Henry to hook his pinkie around mine and kiss it gently.

I pull my hand away as discreetly as possible, and as I glance over my shoulder, Addison is frowning right at me.





When we land in Puerto Vallarta, we’re rushed through customs and split into a caravan of vans and SUVs, which take us along the coast to Punta Mita. The sprawling skyscraper resorts of Puerto Vallarta begin to fall away in favor of dense jungle that sometimes gives way to the sparkling blue ocean. The only time I’ve ever gone to a place like this was when Erica took all of us to Cabo for our first Christmas without Dad. Erica spent the whole week sleeping on the beach while the three of us skipped around the resort until Anna and Drew ran off with some older boys they’d been flirting with. I ended up rejoining Erica, who felt a little bad for me and ordered me enough margarita swirls that soon enough I was asleep on the beach too.