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

“Well, that’s…nice.”

Beck’s face is red and her eyes wide with excitement, like she could burst. “Cindy, they want you to be the female suitor next season.”

“What?” I’m so confused. I can’t quite piece together words. “I thought…the show…it’s not over. I can’t be the suitor if—I…”

Beck shakes her head. “We’ve had wifey on lock since the very beginning. That’s how it’s always worked. Surely you knew that. Besides, that’s not the real prize, anyway. Cin, I’m talking a show—a whole show with you as the star. You’re already America’s sweetheart. Now it’s your turn to find your sweetheart. Oh my God. I need to write that down. I just gave myself chills.”

“Wifey?” Dread begins to settle in my bones like cement, and I feel completely disconnected from this present moment. “What do you mean, wifey?” They don’t think I can win? They don’t think Henry will pick me?

“Wifey…it’s just a dumb thing we call the girl who’s the sure thing. We agreed on it from the beginning. Even Henry knew. God, probably right after goat yoga. He’s agreed to pick Sara Claire. The network execs really love her for the finale. They’re pitching a wedding special to Henry right now. They want to tie it all into some LuMac-sponsored thing or something…I don’t know. I just work with what they give me, and this season it was Sara Claire.”

“Does she…Surely Sara Claire has no idea.”

Beck shakes her head. “Oh God no. At least, I don’t think so. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter. We’re just glad the network decided so early on and that Henry agreed. Really helps us frame our narrative for the season and kind of warm viewers up to—” She stops abruptly as she realizes she’s getting into territory I have no interest in. “None of that matters, okay? So listen, go back home and chill for a bit. After this season wraps, we’ll bring you in for some meetings. You’ll want to get an agent. And…pocket money…I could probably expense you some pocket money until we settle on a deal for—”

“But what about the finale?” I can feel my eyes begin to water and my breath hitch, like I might start hyperventilating if I don’t concentrate on breathing in and out.

“Oh, Cin,” she says, her voice fully of pity. “Okay, this was a lot to just drop on you.” She nods. “I know that. And I’m sorry. But we can’t have you at the finale. We need you to be only slightly hurt, so the audience doesn’t think you’re rebounding too quickly. And don’t worry. We’ll coach Henry through his interviews so it’ll sound like a really tough decision. After the finale airs, we’ll set up a few interviews. You can shed a few tears. Say something like yada, yada, yada, if it couldn’t be me, I’m glad it’s my friend Sara Claire. You lie low for a few weeks and then boom! Big splashy announcement. Oooo, maybe we could do an exclusive with People or US Weekly. We could even have Sara Claire come back as a special guest next season…. We could do a girl-chat segment…” She begins to lose herself and me as she spews idea after idea.

The car stops, and Beck checks her phone. “Oh shit, you gotta catch this flight. Erica’s driver will be waiting for you at LAX.” She reaches into her back pocket and digs out a twenty and two fives. Using her mouth, she uncaps the pen she slid from her front pocket and scribbles a phone number on one of the fives. “Here,” she says and hands me the wad of cash. “Call if anything happens or your flight gets canceled. We’ve got Mallory watching the airline schedules, though, so if anything happens, we’ll send a car.”

“I…I don’t have a phone” is all I can manage to say.

“Ask the airline clerk or, I don’t know, but you’re going to miss this flight if you don’t go now.” This time it’s her who hugs me. “You’re a star, Cindy. America loves you. And I really like you too. I’m proud to call you a friend.”

I nod into her shoulder, unable to bring myself to say anything for fear I might burst into tears if I so much as open my mouth. Normally, I’d find the declaration of friendship so charming and endearing, especially coming from her, but I barely even hear what she’s telling me.

My door opens, and the driver helps me out. I wheel my bags inside as the car drives off, and wordlessly check in at the counter, showing my ID and going through the motions.

America loves you, I hear her say over and over again in my head.

America might love me, but Henry does not.





The hardest part about Dad dying was not being able to say goodbye. The last time I saw him was just like any other time. At least with Mom, despite my age, I knew things were serious and that every time I saw her could be the last. But with Dad, I barely even remember it, honestly. He dropped me off for school. I probably mumbled I love you too as I stared blankly into my phone, and that was it.

And now I’ve missed my chance to really say goodbye again. Henry and I said bye, of course, but that was when I thought I’d be seeing him again in a few days, and that when I did, he’d be picking me. But suddenly it’s over, and I’m numb with shock.

Filming up until this point has not been what I would describe as a peaceful or even quiet process. And yet my senses are overwhelmed from the moment I walk into the airport. Cell phones ringing. Crying children up past their bedtime. News reports in English and Spanish. Security guards snapping and pointing at my dazed expression. It’s the first time in weeks I haven’t been led by the hand to exactly where I’m supposed to be.