One Summer Night. Emily Bold

      ‘Let go!’ She wrestled free from him and defensively crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You have no right to be getting so worked up!’

      ‘I have every goddamn right to be getting so worked up! I want to know if it’s true!’

      Lauren avoided his angry gaze and stared at her feet in the snow.

      ‘Lauren! So is it true? Are you pregnant?’

      His voice had softened somewhat, but there was still anger vibrating in it.

      Fear of Tim’s reaction made her blood freeze and shook her to the core. Why was everything so complicated? And why had she waited all this time until he held a gun to her head?

      Using all of her strength she managed to raise her head and looked him square in the eye. She recognized his uncertainty, and it hit her hard. Chris was right. She should have told Tim right from the beginning.

      ‘Would you like to have tea with me? Then we can talk?’

      For a moment she was afraid he’d say no, given how unforgiving he seemed standing before her. Tim glanced over to the house, and then seemed to loosen up a bit, and nodded.

      ‘So there’s a reason for us . . . to talk?’

      Lauren pressed her lips together tightly. She felt sorry for him. She remembered her own shock only too well, after she had first learned of her pregnancy. Tenderness came over her, and she reached for his ice-cold hand.

      ‘You’re freezing.’

      She turned around and led him back to the house. What a strange feeling, holding his hand like that. And it was even stranger once the door had closed behind them. A little self-consciously, Lauren ran her fingers over his hand and, finally, let go of it. It was as if the echo of their nights spent together was still reverberating off the walls. At the same time, a wall of things unspoken stood between them.

      Tim looked at the new furniture. The dining table with the chairs arranged around it; the pictures now hanging from the walls; and the pastel-colored curtains on the windows hiding the snow outside.

      The last remaining embers in the wood-burning stove still radiated heat, and the snow on their shoes started to melt.

      Lauren slipped out of her winter coat and her boots.

      Tim, too, after hesitating for a moment, took off his shoes.

      ‘You don’t need to . . .’ Lauren motioned for him not to worry, but he shook his head.

      ‘It’s all right. You’ve made a lot of effort to make this place look nice. The least I can do is not leave water stains.’

      ‘Don’t be silly. Chris will be stomping through the house later, boots and all.’

      A furrow appeared between Tim’s eyes.

      ‘Chris? The same Chris who kisses your neck?’

      Lauren blushed, because she could hear the accusation in his voice, but she would not explain herself to him. After all, she wasn’t asking him about his Barbie doll.

      ‘The same. Do you want peppermint or fruit infusion?’

      ‘What?’

      She lifted the kettle and motioned toward the stove.