Relatable Romance that’s racy between the sheets.
The Handoff
Shattered Hearts of Carolina Single Parent Romance
A Snowed in Second Chance Romantic Short Story
Driving through a winter storm should be a breeze after landing a passenger jet in this weather. But my daughter deciding this is the best time to spread her wings isn’t on my radar. Nor is my ex-wife Laurel taking pity on me when I arrive at her house disappointed that I’ll miss my weekend with my kid.
Laurel and I promised to love one another in sickness and in health. It was the part about forsaking all others that exploded our marriage.
When I became a single dad, I accepted that I’d never change Laurel’s mind about what she thought she saw. But I can’t help wondering if getting snowed in together overnight is the second chance I’ve been waiting for to prove to my wife I gave up everything because I loved her.
CONTENT CONSIDERATIONS This book includes but is not limited to the following: divorce, death of a loved one, illusions to infidelity.
Enjoy this Excerpt from Front of the House...
No sooner do the squeaking windshield wipers disappear to the right than they rise and swish to the left. The defroster is on high. Although neither has done a hell of a lot to clear the snow off the glass since leaving the employee parking lot at the airport.
At least the heated seats have kept my ass warm.
I lean forward, using the ruts in the freshly fallen snow to take a wide turn toward the row of townhomes.
Like the weather forecasters predicted, it is accumulating fast. However, the only drivers I’m worried about are the ones who didn’t land a passenger jet on an icy runway an hour ago. I’ve got years of experience getting travelers safely to their destinations. Picking up my daughter from her mother’s house and driving the few miles to my place before the worst of the January storm hits? Piece of cake.
I pull into the empty space next to an unfamiliar SUV. Hastily getting out of mine, I get a shoe full of the white stuff. Flicking my heel doesn’t stop it from soaking my sock. Confident that the dress shoes I’m wearing are no match for the covered sidewalk, I give into my worst urge and take the long way to the front door. Passing the SUV’s tailgate, I swipe a gloved finger over the license plate, brushing away the white flakes.
My cheek pinches to one side, and I huff a sardonic laugh. Sure as I thought, it has dealership tags.
I can’t fault Cary Cass for keeping my family’s best interests at heart. But it’s a hard pill to swallow that Laurel lets her sister’s new husband take better care of her than she will me.
I’m an adult though, and I’ll be damned if I don’t give Laurel the respect I promised I’d always give her on the day we got married.
Frankly, in the twenty years I’ve known my ex-wife, the only thing I regret giving her was the divorce. I didn’t balk at her lawyer’s suggestion for alimony and, because I knew my brother who lives in New York was doing it, I agreed to pay child support until Emory turns twenty-one. The additional college fund I started for her? What else does a single guy have to spend his money on?
So that I’m not thrown off course by the path our lives have taken, I inhale counting to four and exhale another four before pressing the doorbell. I stuff my hands into my wool coat pockets, watching my breath evaporate. If the responsibility for the souls on each leg of my route today didn’t shake me, my former spouse’s choices aren’t going to either.
Subjectively, the handoff, what I quietly refer to the weekends my ex and I switch custody of our daughter as, is as straightforward as switching communications to a new air traffic controller.
Laurel answers the door in a long sleeve white shirt and wide-legged yellow pajama pants covered in daisies, rainbows, eyeballs, peace signs and other seventies graphic icons. She looks relaxed, having pulled her hair into a messy bun. The blonde tendrils that frame her face remind me of the way she looks in our wedding portrait. The crease in her brow above her brown eyes does not.
Her jaw drops. “Bennett, what are you doing here?”
I use my pocketed hands to close the gap of my open coat, pretending I’m cold instead of hiding my body’s automatic reaction to anticipating her licking her lower lip, which she does.
That’s what got to me first. When Laurel was a stewardess filling in for another sick flight attendant on a hop I was piloting. Upon our arrival at the destination airport, flight grounded all planes due to high winds. There was always a chance she’d select or sub in on my route another time. However, I knew I had a go/no-go decision to make if I wanted to guarantee I’d see her again.
I blink sentimentally away, refocusing on the here and now, but also trying my damndest to ignore the way a shivering Laurel has crossed her arms over her stomach, lifting her breasts.
“When they announced the possibility of a storm, we agreed I’d pick Emory up on my way home.”
Like clockwork, we exchange our child every other weekend for four and a half days. Yes, I get to see Emory nine days a month. Which is hardly parenting at all compared to Laurel. But this is the consistency my bid schedule with the airlines allows for, and if I’m in town and Laurel needs me to pick up the slack, I’m there for my ex-wife.
Laurel reaches for her forehead. “She told me she texted you.”
“I didn’t get—” I pull my cell out and sigh. It’s my fault. “It was still in airplane mode.”
I toggle the switch, connecting to my wireless carrier. Missed messages flood the screen. We’ve intentionally held off on getting Emory her own phone. My heart pinches seeing the texts she’s sent from Laurel’s number.
Spending the night at tabby’s. We’re making snow cream!
Mom will bring over tomorrow. She says the car uncle cary lent her has AWD?
I’ll save you some snow cream! XXXX
“That’s why I didn’t recognize the car,” I mutter.
“It’s a service center loaner.”
“I figured.”
I stick my phone back in my pocket and rock back on my heels. My single wet sock is disconcerting. I feel like one foot is cold-sweating. “Well, I guess…” It is what it is.
Our little girl is growing up.
I knew this day would come, but I’m not ready to let go.
It’s been a long day and I might as well go home, so I turn to leave.
“Wait, Bennett. Do you want to come in?”
©2026 Jody Kaye, All Rights Reserved
