Page 33 of Where There's Smoke

I nodded.

“That’s…” He coughed quietly. “Unexpected.”

It took everything I could not to snap backis that a fucking problem?Obviously it was a problem. I wouldn’t have kept it on the down low if it wasn’t. But the thinly veiled…something in his expression and tone both irritated me and left me uneasy. Anthony wasn’t the type to get rattled. It had occurred to me, in spite of Ranya’s insistence that her gaydar was pegging, that Anthony could be homophobic. Anyone could be, after all. But somehow I’d convinced myself he wouldn’t be. Wishful thinking or something, I supposed.

All I knew now was the tense, awkward silence hanging between us.

Eventually Anthony muffled another cough and reached for his cigarettes again, but didn’t take one out of the pack. “So what exactly is your, um, plan? Are you going to come out after the election?”

I rubbed my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest.” I shook my head. “I just don’t know.”

Anthony blew out a breath but didn’t speak. He also didn’t light another cigarette. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. Resting his elbow on the table, he held a loose fist in front of his lips, and deep crevices formed between his eyebrows, his eyes locked on something in the darkness beyond the pool.

I shifted in my chair, not sure if I wanted to deck him for acting like this was such a big deal or beg him to keep it between us. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t explain up front about Simone. And…um…” I cleared my throat. “Everything.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll… We can still…” He looked anywhere but right at me. “This won’t change how your campaign’s run. Just, I mean, it’s…” He finally looked at me. “Good to know. In case anyone finds out.”

“Right.” I moistened my lips, and this time I was the one to avoid his eyes. “So I guess I don’t have to ask if you’ll say anything. To anyone.”

“No, no, I definitely won’t. I would suggest you do the same.”

I glared at him. “You think I’m exactly broadcasting it?”

Anthony showed his palms. “No, of course not.” He shifted his gaze away. “But this could complicate things.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered.

A long, heavy silence descended over us. The soft sound of my heel moving back and forth on the concrete punctuated the stillness. Anthony drummed his fingers on the table, the rhythmic, hollow percussion echoing across the veranda. And…I should have known what was coming:

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Over and over again, like he needed to mark time so neither of us could ignore each long, mostly silent second that marched past.

Then he snapped it shut so abruptly I nearly jumped to my feet. He set the lighter on the table. Picked it up again. Flipped it a few times.

Finally, he pocketed the lighter and cleared his throat. “Listen, um, we’ve got an early flight in the morning. I’d better get going.”

I gritted my teeth.Worried it’s contagious, are we?“Right. Yeah. Didn’t realize it was so late.”

Chairs scraped across cement. Anthony’s cigarette pack hissed across the table, and as he slipped it into his pocket, we went back into the house. The silence followed us through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the foyer.

There we stopped.

Our eyes met, but he quickly looked away. He started toward the door, reached for the doorknob, but hesitated. Pulled his hand back like some unseen electricity had arced across and zapped him. Rubbing the back of his neck, he chewed his lower lip.

I didn’t know what to make of Anthony being this uncertain. Or off guard. Anything that wasn’t 100 percent in control and even-keeled. Right now it was like he couldn’t even decide whether or not to open the damned door, and I just couldn’t process that.

I folded my arms loosely across my chest. “Is there something else?”

“Just thinking.” He took a breath and kept his gaze fixed on the hardwood floor between us. “This could, um, complicate things a little.”

“So you said. I’m sure the voters won’t be thrilled if they find out.”

His head snapped up, and confusion furrowed his brow for a split second. Then he broke eye contact and shifted his weight. “Right. Right. The voters.”

I eyed him. “Yeah. The voters.”

The voters and the homophobic campaign manager.

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