Dancing in a Hurricane by Laura Breck

we'd be great friends in our old age, wear matching clothes and…" She stopped as the memories suddenly became heartbreaking.
    "You didn't figure on the worst case scenario."
    "No, I didn't." She glanced at him. "Were you two serious?"
    A flicker of pain crossed his eyes. "I was. I don't think she was."
    Bree nodded. He was an award-winning photographer, which meant chances were good that Cloe was using him. "She was young. She might have matured and settled down."
    He laughed, first a crack of harsh disbelief, and then he rolled into a real belly laugh.
    Could he see through her patronizing words? Yes. She chuckled. "Miracles do happen."
    "No. Not to Cloe. She made her own hell and loved it."
    That startled her. Such an odd thing to say. Especially about someone he was serious about.
    "All right, I'll let you finish." He set the photo in the bottom of the paper box. "It was good to meet you and I hope you enjoy your stay here in Miami."
    "Thanks. Actually…" She liked this man. "I'm here permanently."
    "Really? That's great." He pulled out a business card and set it on top of the photo in the box. "Call me if you need anything, or if you'd like a tour of the city."
    "I will. Thank you."
    He turned and left.
    ***
    Back home, Bree hauled in her shopping bags and dropped them just inside the garage door. She should go back out to the car and get the box of papers she'd collected from Cloe's office. But the pool looked too inviting. The noon sun beat down hot and bright, and she could look through the papers another day.
    In her sister's tall dresser, she found a size six bikini that looked like it might stretch to fit her. Bree stripped and tugged it on. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror while she lathered on coconut-scented sunscreen. The green floral top had underwires that gave her Playboy-like cleavage while the bottoms hugged her butt. She stared and turned in front of the mirror, amazed at how sexy it made her look. How desirable it made her feel. Maybe she'd been wearing the wrong type of clothing all these years.
    Back in Port Angeles, Bree only swam at the gym and wore a one piece that flattened more than accentuated her curves. She posed, pouting out her lips and arching her back. Wow, in this suit, she'd be rated X. Good thing she had the house to herself this afternoon.
    She plopped a big, floppy hat on her head, grabbed a Miami tourist magazine and a bottle of water, and settled in on one of the plush, cushioned chaise lounges. She closed her eyes and sighed, truly relaxing for the first time since she got the call about her sister's death.
    The man at Cloe's office—Greg, according to his business card—asked when she would have forgiven her sister. For five years, she tried to forget she had a sister. Tried to forget the pain Cloe caused.
    Less than a year ago, Bree's ex-fiancé, Kyle, accepted the position as administrator at the hospital where Bree worked. They occasionally bumped into each other in the hallway, greeted each other pleasantly, but her heart always broke when she thought of his wife and the baby they were expecting. That should have been her life.
    A month later, he'd called her into his office and questioned whether she could maintain her professionalism with him. She'd been insulted. Of course, he wanted her to quit. They lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone's business. It had to be embarrassing for him to work with the woman he left at the altar.
    Tossing the magazine onto the cement, she stormed into the kitchen. In the refrigerator, she found last night's leftovers and heated a plateful. After carefully picking apart the food, she walked around the house examining the framed art and the knickknacks. She hadn't eaten much of the chicken dish last night and today, it tasted just as delicious. How did she get so lucky to be living with a cook?
    Her shopping bags stood where she dropped them by the door to the garage. She wasn't living alone any longer. Common