One Take Only
Lynsey M. Stewart
One Take Only
By: Lynsey M. Stewart
One Take Only
Copyright© 2020 by Lynsey M. Stewart.
All Rights Reserved
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author of this book. The only exception is brief quotations to be used in book reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, brands, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editing and Proofreading: JoAnn Collins at Twin Tweaks Editing
Cover design: Kari March -Kari March designs
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Contents
Dedication
Prologue
1. Skye
2. Skye
3. Will
4. Will
5. Skye
6. Skye
7. Skye
8. Skye
9. Will
10. Skye
11. Will
12. Skye
13. Skye
14. Will
15. Skye
16. Will
17. Skye
18. Will
19. Skye
20. Skye
21. Will
22. Will
23. Skye
24. Skye
25. Skye
26. Will
27. Skye
28. Skye
29. Skye
Epilogue
Chapter 1 - One Night Only
Also by Lynsey M. Stewart
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Dedication
To quarantine. The only reason I finished this book.
Prologue
Tea leaves meant something, right? The remnants in the bottom of the teacup and littered around the edge could tell your fortune, speak your future, guide your way. What about the leafy remnants in the bottom of a sink after a busy Saturday shift in a Brighton café? A cold day when every single person in the North Laines wanted a hot drink to perk them up. I had piles of the stuff. I could quite easily fill a Terrarium and grow myself some nice succulents after a day at Turnip the Beet, the café I’d owned for the past two years and had just put up for sale. I still wasn’t sure I believed it. Rash, hasty decisions were a thing of the past for me. Living on the edge no longer on the agenda and it wasn’t tea leaves that told me I needed a new start; it was the old, fusty fortune teller on Brighton Pier.
The weekend my best friend Stacey moved in, we did the touristy thing despite Stacey loving Brighton and visiting numerous times before. We went to the Royal Pavilion in the morning to feel cultured and inspired followed by afternoon tea at Choccywoccydoodah to feel chocolatey and indulgent. After, we did the wobbly walk across the pebbled beach – never easy to do in heels – even if mine were Dr. Martens. In the evening we ate candy floss while riding the carousel near the pier and won a stuffed llama on the grabber machines. Seeing the flaky paint and lopsided Open sign of the fortune teller led to a mutual side glance and knowing smile. Stace went first. She’ll meet a handsome stranger, yada, yada, OK. My reading was slightly more inspired. The elderly woman wearing purple eyeshadow that sat deep in her wrinkles put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, young lady,” she said. “You are stifled.” She made a gasping sound. Stacey snorted and I wondered if the fortune teller could see me in front of the café coffee machine lost in a billowy cloud of smoke. “You need an escape, my dear. A new venture.”
She produced a crystal ball from under her kaftan. I tried not to wonder where she’d retrieved it from and smiled behind my hand as she proceeded to spit on the crystal ball before rubbing it with her sleeve. “Wheels,” she said. “Oooh crikey! It’s shiny and big!” Stace nudged me and said that’s what they all say. The fortune teller started to rock, and I swear my sceptic thoughts dropped out through my nostril, bypassing the nose ring and scattering across the floor. Something shifted, possibly my liver after too many glasses of Prosecco, but no, suddenly the laughter disappeared, and I was desperate to know what this woman had to say. I opened my eyes widely and took Stacey’s hand in mine whispering, “Whatever she says next, I’m going to do.” Stacey raised an eyebrow and mouthed, Let’s get out of here before she channels the ghosts of Brighton’s past, and shrieked when the woman started humming loudly.
“I mean it,’ I said. “This is the push I’ve been looking for.”
“Push?” Stacey whisper-shouted. “No disrespect but the woman is barking. You don’t need this push. You need a guided hand from someone completely sane.”
“I see dogs,” the fortune teller said between barks.
“A dog,” I replied. “Yes. Reggie, Stacey’s Bulldog. Is that what you see?”
“Dogssss,” she repeated, her voice booming as she empathised the plural. Stacey grimaced and started muttering about having a lovely time, but needing to go. She got up and the woman held up her hand before pointing back to her seat. Stace cleared her throat and sat down slowly. “I see dogs. I see many, many dogs.” We watched as she started to make a motion with her hand. “Clipping, shaving…” She stood up and clapped into the air. “Grooming!”
“Grooming?” Stacey repeated, her face twisted in confusion.
“Dog grooming,” I said, mouth open in a pure eureka moment. “That’s it! I could be a dog groomer!”
“Is that what she means?” Stacey said, before turning to the fortune teller. “Is that what you’re seeing in her future?”
The woman took a long, deep
