Hurricanes in Paradise Read Online Free PDF Page A

still audible even after he closed the door.
    Her driver was a thirtysomething Bahamian native named Florence. Florence gave her a tour of the city as they wove through the roads of Nassau on the wrong side of the street.
    “Ooh, child. You like to ride up people’s butts over here, don’t you,” Winnie said as she pushed her body back into the seat as if that would create distance.
    Florence laughed as she jerked the wheel and pulled them around a car that had been coasting in front of them. By the time Florence pulled up to the front of the hotel, Winnie regretted the fact that she had left her Depends at the house.
    “Florence, any chance you’re going to be my driver when I leave here?” she asked when Florence opened the door to let her exit. She wasn’t asking out of hope.
    “I don’t know, ma’am. Never can tell what my schedule’s going to be.”
    She patted the driver’s arm with a slight tremble in her hand. “Well, don’t rush back on account of me, okay, honey?”
    “I’ll drive you anywhere, anytime, Miss Winnie. You just call Roy and ask for me.”
    “Sure, yeah, absolutely. But I think I’ll probably be staying here most of the time anyway. So don’t sit around waiting for Miss Winnie, okay?”
    Florence laughed and climbed back into the car while a young valet retrieved her things.
    “Where’s the bar, son? I think I need a drink.”
    He laughed. “You can take your pick, ma’am. There are quite a few around here.”
    She took in a deep breath and turned toward the lobby. The place was magnificent. Everything about it was modern elegance, yet timeless and classic. And it had a hipness to it too. She wished her students could be here. But she knew most of them wouldn’t be able to comprehend it all. When all you know are gangs, hunger, and drugs, there are some things in life that your soul can’t even begin to assimilate. Beauty like this was often one of them. Some of them still had trouble believing in her, and she was no beauty queen.
    She walked into a large room where the front desk and concierge resided, the sound of the waterwall already washing away the stress. “My, my, my . . . look at this place.”
    “Are you Ms. Harris?” a brunette asked as she extended her hand.
    “Mrs.,” Winnie corrected. It was still Mrs. to her.
    “I’m sorry about that.”
    Winnie patted the woman’s bony arm. “Honey, not a thing to worry about. And aren’t you a breath of Southern sunshine. Where are you from, darlin’?”
    She smiled. “Charleston. I’m Riley Sinclair. I’m the head of guest relations here.”
    “Well, Miss Riley Sinclair from Charleston, I love the low country. Shrimp and grits, low-country boils. Can’t you tell I know where the good food is? And speaking of good food, if we’re going to apologize for anything, it needs to be the fact that you pass by food every day and don’t eat it. You’ve been here too long.”
    Riley laughed again. “Well, I’ll make sure I do better with that.”
    “You need to. Really, honey, men don’t want to marry scrawny chickens. They want hens with breasts and thighs and meat on their bones. Not that I even know if you want to get married or not. Shoot, you might already be married, but if you’re not, you really need to think about putting the fork to your lips, sweetheart. I mean seriously.” She came up for air. Then drew her hand up quickly to her lips. “Now I’m sorry,” she mumbled from behind her hot pink fingernail polish and then dropped her hand. “I tell kids what to do all day long. I doubt you needed to know a bit of what I thought.”
    “It’s okay, really. You’re right. I stay too busy. I probably do need to eat a little more.”
    “Did you come over here to tell me something before I blabbered like an idiot?”
    “I came to tell you that we’re so glad to have you. I will be here this week to take care of any of your needs. You name it and I’m here for you. I want you to experience every