All the Sky by Susan Fanetti Page B

close tonight.” She turned to Nolan, who was sitting at the end of the bar, his laptop open. “Hey, bud? You should probably go out to the Beast around midnight, quarter past, okay?”
    He nodded, and Bonnie leaned over the bar and patted his shoulder. Cory saw him glance at her friend’s prodigious cleavage, blush a little, and look back at his screen.
    “Okay, I gotta go. I got the shipment in and logged, just needs to be shelved.”
    “I got it—thanks, Bonnie.”
    “No trouble, sugar—have a good night!” And out the door went Bonnie, dressed to kill. Monday seemed a strange night for a big date, but her steady was an over-the-road trucker, so she took him when she had him.
    And then, an hour before open, Cory and Nolan were alone in Valhalla Vin. The cook, Drew, would be around in half an hour or so, prepping the tiny kitchen for the few small plates they served. In the meantime, Cory would stock and prep. Nolan was with her this evening because he was bored and the bar had wifi. She was nervous; she’d only had this job just more than two weeks, and she didn’t want to cause a problem, having her teenage son at the bar.
    But it had been Bonnie’s idea, and she’d been working there since the place had opened. And Nolan really was bored. Through all their troubles, he’d always been able to get online. Being limited only to his phone at the RV, and not always even that, was making him surly again.
    He also had his sketchpad and pencils with him, but those were stacked against the wall. For now, he pushed earbuds into his ears and started to play. Cory was heartened at the way his expression eased as soon as he was in-game.
    The evening passed smoothly. There was a steady, if small, group of people. Cory hadn’t been around long enough to distinguish Signal Bend residents from anyone else, but she had noticed a little group of fairly regular customers. No one seemed bothered by Nolan at the end of the bar. In fact, when, about halfway through the night, he closed his laptop and started to sketch, he attracted some amiable attention. Cory could see that it made him feel awkward, but he showed what he was making whenever someone asked, and he was shyly gracious in response to their praise.
    It was a dragon, becoming more and more detailed as the night went on. He really was good. Nolan was fifteen, but he’d never expressed much of an idea about what he wanted to do with his life. Cory blamed herself for that—they lived a life in which they were always focused on getting to the next day, in which the next thing was the next downward step into penury. She supposed it was hard for him to think beyond that. If he wanted to do something with art, she’d support his choice. But she also knew that it probably meant a life in which he’d continue to focus on getting to the next day.
    Around ten-thirty, Havoc came in through the front door. He wasn’t supposed to be here so early. The nerves in Cory’s stomach twitched uncomfortably. She darted a glance at Nolan, but he was engrossed in his drawing. It was too late to send him outside at this point, anyway.
    As always, even now, when she was worried she was about to get yelled at, or worse, Cory’s baser interests first made note of how hot Havoc was. About six feet, or an inch or two more, he had a broad, athletic build, muscular without being gym-bound and veiny. His head was shaved, and he had a full, but trimmed and nicely groomed, black beard, threaded with grey. She guessed him to be late thirties, maybe forty. His eyes were so dark brown they might as well have been black.
    He had sleeves of ink over both of his upper arms—a blackwork tribal piece on the right, and an elaborate piece on the left. She hadn’t been able to figure that one out, because he always wore snug, black t-shirts that covered his shoulders and the tops of his arms. For all the definition of his body those t-shirts showed off, they did obscure his ink.
    He was hot, but he was