One Take Only Read online

  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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  Created with Vellum

  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 dramatic breath before releasing it and circling her hands. “I cannot confirm or deny anything,” she replied, the coins on her headscarf tinkling.

  “Hold on, lady,” I said. “I need more deets. Confirmation. Is dog grooming my…destiny?” Stacey snorted as she made for the beaded curtains.

  “My readings are simply a guide,” she said, removing her headscarf and switching off the indoor water feature at the side of her chair. “Do with the information what you will. I don’t clarify details or…offer refunds.”

  “Funny that,” Stacey muttered under her breath.

  “Oh, and, Cloud.”

  “It’s Skye,” I replied.

  “Take care of yourself,” the lady said. “I see…hurt.”

  “Oh,” I muttered as Stace offered me a small smile.

  “You’re too hard on yourself and there’s really no need.”

  “OK, thanks for that,” I replied, leaving be
fore we got deep. Too deep for me to handle.

  “Aside from the barking,” Stace said, “she nailed it.”

  I smiled at the memory, scooping up the tea leaves from the sink and dropping them into the bin. The ones that remained dotted around the steel made a pattern, kind of like the map of Africa. Did it mean something? I swiped my hands, clad in bright pink rubber gloves, across them, swirling my finger, hoping for a sign. Should I be travelling the world rather than travelling Brighton in a bright pink and gold van? I liked to pretend I was an optimist. Always seeing the glass half full, taking a gulp and asking for more. Going to see the fortune teller would work out well for me. There was no other option. Failure wasn’t in my vocab. Despite Stacey and our other friend, Will, telling me to be cautious, or in his words Don’t listen to the bat-shit crazy, I was now the proud owner of a mobile dog grooming business.

  When I was younger, I’d never been afraid of taking risks. That had changed somewhat when my life took a detour. I’d made a series of bad decisions in my teens that I chose to acknowledge and do nothing but grow from. Life was too short to have regrets. I lived for the moment and wouldn’t give a second thought to packing some clothes in a bag and spending the weekend alone camping in the New Forest. I pierced my nose when I was twelve. My ear was stretched by the time I reached my twenties and I dyed my hair orange, green and purple before finally settling on my trademark pink. I shaved one side of my head when I decided I quite liked looking lopsided. I mean, I could never be described as fitting into the norm. I liked it that way, but lately I couldn’t help feeling like something was…missing. And that…wasn’t the norm.

  “Take that, tea leaves,” I said as I sprayed bleach into the sink. Pulling my rubber gloves off with a pop I draped them over the tap and switched off the kitchen light.

  I loved this time of the day. The final customers had left, I’d sent the staff home and the café was serene and still. It was a great time to think – gave a perfect opportunity to concentrate. I was easily distracted, but pulling a chair up and settling down for a night of studying was a great way for me to focus. Stacey was staying in Liverpool for the weekend with her mum. She’d taken Reggie with her, so although the flat would be empty, there was something comforting about the café. I couldn’t deny that the moment I put the café up for sale it caused more than a stomach flip. But technically…I didn’t do regrets and I didn’t want to look back once I’d started moving forward. I set out several books I’d ordered about business intelligence and effectiveness and women in power plus my leopard print pencil case and a bright pink notebook. I put back the pen topped with a sloth (it didn’t give the message I wanted to portray) and chose a highly sophisticated glitter gel pen before writing I can do this on my notepad.

  I woke up splayed across the table with the books acting as pillows. How did that happen? As soon as I opened a book about business it was like it sucked the time zone from me and set it to a few hours in the future. “Urgh. Midnight. Great,” I said to no one. “Nothing like losing a few hours of your life on a Saturday evening.” I piled the books on top of each other, turned out the light, and locked the doors to the café. As I lived upstairs, I used the side entrance and made my way up to the flat. Handy when I was tired and disorientated and just wanted to crash on my bed.

  The staircase was dark. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I turned on the torch, ensuring I reached the top of the stairs without breaking a vital part of my anatomy. As I made my ascent, what I wasn’t expecting were noises coming from the flat, particularly as I knew Stacey and Reggie were away. It might surprise you when I say I’ve had this before. The previous tenant messed up his dates and tried to get an extra night in the flat without realising I’d moved in that afternoon and was returning home from a night out with Will and Stace, definitely worse for wear. Will threatened him with my hairdryer. He obviously didn’t like blow dries because he was out of there quicker than you could say, Leave the key.

  I pressed my ear against the door.

  Laughter.

  I crouched down to the letterbox.

  Moans.

  I flipped it, held it up with my fingers and parted the draught excluder closing it again quickly when I caught a glimpse of a man who looked very much like Will.

  More laughter.

  What the hell was he doing in my flat? Yes, we were mates. Stacey had brought him into my life five years ago when they met at university, but he didn’t live in my freaking flat.

  More moans.

  Will was nice enough. A bit dopey. Extremely nerdy. Irritating most of the time. Also, cute. He took photographs of everything (being a journalist for a photography magazine would encourage that) and had a killer sense of humour that matched Stacey’s, so it was easy to like him. Despite that, we fell into a weird we-can’t-stand-each-other-but-tolerate-each-other-for-Stacey’s-sake relationship.

  Until my world fell apart and everything changed.

  He carried me through my darkest despair, lifted me when I needed carrying, and when I started to slowly piece myself back together (I wasn’t sure how well I succeeded with that), I fell back into enjoying winding him up. In fact, it became a habit. The banter was amusing, and it was less complicated to play the part of the snarky mate with the deadpan delivery rather than confusing our friendship for anything else. Anything more.

  Loud gasps.

  Flipping the letterbox again, I peeked through.

  “Show me…go on.”

  What the hell was he talking about?

  “You first. No, you. Oh, wow. You’re naughty…”

  His laptop was on my coffee table and he was sitting on my sofa leaning forward with hands clasped to his mouth.

  “OK, OK. Hang on.”

  He pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it behind him.

  “Erm…no. I don’t have much. Chest hair doesn’t seem to be something I excel in growing.”

  I watched his bare shoulders and caught sight of something black on the screen.

  Was that a mask?

  “I’ve shown you. Now it’s my turn to see. What? You want to see mine again? Sweetheart, this seems a little bit of a one-sided situation here.” He laughed. “I know it’s impressive. Yes, I know it’s worth seeing again.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  He leant forward and changed the angle of his laptop. “Now that has to be one of the best Halloween costumes I’ve ever seen.”

  Increased gasps.

  It didn’t take me forever to piece the situation together. Will was in my flat, sitting on my sofa, Skyping a woman wearing a rubber mask and reacquainting his penis with his curled hand.

  “Oh yeah. You’re a filthy Catwoman. Come and milk me dry.”

  That was it. I put my key into the lock and pushed the door open, smashing it against the wall and causing Will to stand up like his arse was on fire.

  “Skye? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here? This is my flat, Will!” I shielded my eyes from all the nakedness and turned around as he fumbled to find his glasses.

  “I thought you were away this weekend!”

  “Jesus, bloody Christ!” I shrieked as he let go of his junk once he’d located his glasses on the coffee table.

  “I can explain.”

  “Excuse me?” We both turned to the laptop as Catwoman peered from the screen. “Who is that?” she asked.

  “It’s OK,” Will stuttered, eyes on me. His Clark Kent black-rimmed specs highlighted his green eyes. I’d always been envious of the colour – light, bright, a touch of gold to make them sparkle when he was in a mischievous mood. “She’s just my…flatmate.”

  “Flatmate?” I repeated dramatically. Will shook his head in a panic. He knew me too well. “What the fuck?” I was going to have fun with this. “I’ve been your fiancé for eighteen months and you go and do this to me?” I leant down to the screen to wrap up my wind-up. “Again!”

  “Who is she?” Catwoman asked as she took off her ma
sk.

  “My name is Skye and it appears you already know my…”

  “Skye,” Will warned.

  “Baby daddy!” I flung myself in front of the laptop and dramatically sobbed through my laughter as Will raised his eyes to the ceiling.

  “You have a child?”

  “No, sweetheart!” he cooed, stroking the laptop. “This is Skye. My friend. She appears to think she’s being incredibly funny, but I’m not finding this situation in any way amusing.” He said through his teeth as he swiped me on the bum with his boxers.

  “You rotten, scumbag!” Catwoman shouted as she threw her mask behind her. A piece of fabric in the background fell down in one corner revealing a framed U2 poster on the wall, which seemed to catch Will’s attention. He looked confused as he tipped his head to get a better look.

  “Wait,” he said, “what is that?”

  He was crouched down now, his back in complete view, dimples at the base of his spine and something else I appeared to find extremely thrilling.

  Will’s bum.

  AKA buns of steel.

  Eggs in a handkerchief.

  Glutes to die for.

  Booty of perfection.

  What the hell was I doing? I’d seen Will’s bum numerous times but always when it was clad in denim or that tasty tweed suit that fit him really well or those cute trousers he wore to work. The ones with the turn ups and the pockets on his amazing– oh crap. I’d admired his bum before, and I wasn’t even aware I was doing it.