by Emily Childs
“Come on, we’re going to be late,” Logan whines, and punches Axel in the shoulder. I’d like to punch Logan’s nose.
I look at Jonas. He watches me. Those royal blue eyes bounce between me and his brother. One corner of his mouth flicks up, another expression I’ve never seen before. Whatever it means he is spinning my head and I don’t like it.
“I’ll meet you in the car, I just have to grab something,” Jonas says.
“Hurry,” Axel adds before turning back to me. “See you around, Brita. Let me know if Jonas gives you a hard time.”
“Okay,” I gurgle. Not chuckle, not giggle. I gurgle.
Logan jumps up and slaps the doorframe before he and Axel disappear out of the office. I release a long, pent breath. My chair whirls around with enough force I need to grip the armrests. Jonas leans forward, caging me between his arms. His face has never been this close, and that smirk reveals a new mischievous side I kind of like.
“You have a little secret, Brita Jacobson.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, scooting my chair back.
“Oh, I think you do. How long?”
“Jonas, get out of here. Go do whatever it is you’re going to do.”
“It’s just basketball. How long, Brita?”
I huff, something I do often around Jonas. “How long, what?”
“How long have you had a thing for my brother?”
“A thing? Really, Jonas, are we still in junior high?”
Jonas rests one hip on my desk. My breath hitches again when he leans closer. An unusual sensation, having a tingle of nerves around Jonas. Something unfamiliar and unexpected. The crazy thing? I like it. A lot.
“No, we’re not in junior high,” he says. “So answer the question.”
“We’re not talking about this,” I say. I take the file folder and try to stand, but his hand rests on my forearm. What is happening? A pleasant burn warms my skin under his touch.
“Oh, we are talking about this,” he says. “Come on, I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“Sure, let me just spill everything to you because we’re so close.”
Jonas removes his hand and returns to his shy grin. “Okay, good point.”
“Why thank you counselor.” I have no shortage of lawyer jokes.
“How about I tell you something about me that’s personal as a sign of good faith,” His brow furrows, and the shade of blue in his eyes deepens. He’s serious.
“It has to be big then,” I tease. “Like your deepest fear.”
Jonas shakes his head. “No, we aren’t at that point yet.” He turns my chair, so I’m facing him again. “But I’ve got a good start. If my grandpa ever hears about this, then I’ll be disowned. You will never repeat this—got it?”
I can’t help but smile. Crossing my heart, I hold up one hand. “I swear.”
“Okay.” Jonas lowers his voice. “Every Santa Lucia Day I pay my parents’ neighbor girl to go and buy those ginger cookies from your family’s bakery. There, now you know.”
I study him. Jonas keeps his arms crossed over his chest; his expression unchanged. “You’re serious?”
“I can’t help it. I love them. We make something similar, but I love those cookies,” he says. “You understand more than anyone what that means. I just told you a big thing. So, your turn.”
Jonas isn’t playing, and I have the sneaking suspicion he’s not leaving until I add something. Closing my eyes, I tangle my fingers into bony knots. “I may find Axel…interesting.”
“Now who’s acting like we’re in junior high?”
“Okay, I am attracted to your brother, is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes, because we’re twins, so what does that say?”
“Ugh, I don’t like you.”
“Nope, but maybe Axel.”
I laugh and pinch his arm. “Fine, I like Axel. Happy?”
“Yes.” Jonas’s smile fades slightly. “But you don’t think anything can happen because—”
“Because our families are sworn enemies, yes. That does pose a bit of a problem.” I tap my pen along the edge of my desk, an embarrassing burn swells behind my eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of it, Jonas? I mean, I don’t even know why Farfar and your grandpa hate each other. No one talks about it—it’s just what is. You should be able to come into a bakery and get cookies without sending a surrogate. I should…”
“You should be able to care about who you care about,” he finishes for me. We sit in a welcome silence for a moment, then Jonas backs out of my cubicle. “You know what, you’re right Brita. I’m going to help you out.”
“No, no, no,” I beg. “Don’t say anything, please.”
“Don’t worry. I’m just going to mention some of your less-annoying qualities and encourage Axel. Whatever happens will happen. I won’t mention our conversation to anyone, I promise.”
I question if I can trust him. Words won’t form, so I keep tapping my pen. Those confessions came too easily, and I’m a little unnerved.
Jonas slings his leather bag over his shoulder and steps out of my cubicle. “Well, I’m going to go. I won’t break my promise. Merry Christmas, and I guess I’ll see you in a couple days.”
Dad is keeping his promise to spend all Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at home. I heard him speaking with Edwin, the Anderson in the Anderson-Collins Law Firm. Our holiday starts tomorrow.
“Merry Christmas,” I say.
Jonas disappears behind the cubicle wall with a small wave.
I startle when he hurriedly pokes his head around the corner again. “Hey, you know what’s kind of funny? I was just thinking, this whole situation with Axel, it’s kind of perfect for someone like you.”
“What? How is it perfect?”
“Well, because of your love affair with Shakespeare. If you think about it, Axel is a little like Romeo, and you’re a little like Juliet.”
I cross my arms. “Well, I’m not one for death and sorrow, but if we’re the stars then who does that make you? Mercutio?”
He shakes his head. “No, he dies too. I’ll be the Friar. Just a decent guy trying to do the best by everyone.”
“You know, for hating Romeo and Juliet so much, you know a lot about it.”
“Must have burned a hole in my brain. Merry Christmas.”
I scoff when Jonas stalks out of the office. His words replay through my head like a broken reel of film. A romantic notion, Romeo and Juliet. Except for the tragic ending of course, that part is definitely out of the picture. Brushing my hair behind my ears again, I smile, roll my lip over my teeth. Pulling Jonas’s folder toward me, I open to the first page.
Chapter 6
Christmas Eve and Christmas morning are special in the Jacobson home. Dad keeps his word, though there are times I see him peer at his watch or tap his knee as if he knows how much work is mounting while he idly sing songs and eats braided sweet bread.
The house is packed Christmas Eve. Farfar’s brother and his wife stop in to celebrate. Uncle Gunnar is pleasant, though in the early stages of dementia. But still sharp as a tack during a round of poker Karl and Oscar insist on starting. Gunnar left with two batches of spritz and an entire case of cupcakes.
Uncle Karl’s sister came up from Duluth. She is single and dotes on Oscar and Agnes—and me. She gifts me a complete collection of Jane Austen’s works. Thrilled doesn’t describe how excited I am to dig in. Agnes squeals most of the night in pleasure, especially when presents are passed around. Only Santa Claus gifts are opened on Christmas morning. I don’t know who started that rule, but as a kid I loved opening half my gifts the night before. Now, it is ten times as entertaining watching Agnes limp back and forth from the tree to her designated place on the couch, opening her Christmas Eve treasures, and dreaming of what might come the next morning.
As enjoyable as Christmas Eve is, the peace of Christmas morning is even better. I sip some of Farmor’s special peppermint tea in the new china t
eacup Inez gave me. I love teacups, so does my aunt. I gave her the same gift, a cup with beautiful ivy vines along the edge and a handle curled like a delicate leaf.
Farmor made the tea every Christmas and it seems wrong not to make it this year. I stare out the window thinking of my grandmother. Missing her.
My cell phone buzzes on the table. I smile away the melancholy, answering the video call. “Merry Christmas, Mom!”
“Sweetie! Merry Christmas. Thank you for the scarf! Seriously, Brita it’s beautiful. I miss you.” My mother’s smiling face breaks through the screen. She holds her own mug of something—I hope Farmor’s tea. She smiles and her eyes crinkle in the corners, but I think it adds a bit of cheer to her face.
“I miss you too. I’m glad you liked it. I got the tickets! Mom, seriously? We’re going?”
Mom smiles. “I thought you deserved something amazing. It’s kind of a huge celebration all rolled in one. Christmas, your birthday, graduation. It’ll be a blast, just us girls.”
“Thank you. I’ve always wanted to go to New York, and Broadway! I can’t wait.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” she says.
“How was your morning?” I ask. Her house is dark, but I can see a few flickers of candles behind her. Mom has a thing for scented candles.
“Cold and quiet,” she says.
“Todd isn’t there?” I don’t want her to be alone. I would rather her be here, filling our house with her plumeria perfume. No one would mind.
“He’s coming later. His mother is in a retirement home nearby and he went to visit with her. We’re going to his brother’s house for dinner. How has your break been? I still think I need to steal you away for a few days before you go back to school.”
“I would love to, but I’m working with Dad, remember?”
“Right, how could I ever forget the super-secret?” Mom giggles, but my smile drops, and I quickly glance over my shoulder. No one is there to hear.
“Mom, careful.” I tried to keep my promise with Dad, but this is my mother—I tell her almost everything. Except about Axel. Even so, I suspect Mom knows. She can sniff out things like that.
“Brit, relax. I think it’s a great thing you’re doing, and your dad’s right, it will look great on a resume. I just find it a little entertaining that the guy next door, I’ll call him that, is there too. I’m even more surprised your dad allowed it.”
“Edwin Anderson approved it actually.”
“Well, it’s all very dramatic,” she says, still smiling. I know she’s teasing, but I agree. The feud is dramatic, and today in particular I feel weary of the Jacobson-Olsen war. My mother takes a sip of her mug and adjusts the angle of the phone. I can see gentle snow falling outside her bay window. “Brit, you should take this time to get all the secrets of the enemy.”
“He’s actually a nice guy,” I say. By the way my cheeks heat I’m sure are the same shade as the holly berries over the mantle.
Mom notices and lifts a brow. “Is he now?”
“Mother,” I sigh. “I just mean it’s not like we’re ready to duel or anything. He’s just trying to secure an internship like any normal, motivated—”
“Kind of sexy…”
“—pre-law student. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
Mom smiles, her eyes doing that cheery scrunch again. “Okay, I’ll stop. Honestly, I think it’s great. I married into that feud, but never understood it. And if I’m being honest, I’m not sure your grandmother cared much for it either. I mentioned that once to your dad, but he didn’t agree.”
One hundred percent, I agree with Mom. I know Farmor’s secret distaste for the feud. My thoughts drift back to her letter stuffed inside my purse. I carry it everywhere.
“Didn’t agree with what? I can’t believe I would ever argue with anything,” Dad’s voice interrupts.
Mom laughs. I’m glad it isn’t the same unfeeling tone they kept with each other the last year of my high school experience. Those are the days I first noticed something might be off with my parents’ marriage.
“Merry Christmas, Nils,” Mom says politely.
“Merry Christmas, Judy. You could have joined us, you know. No reason to be alone during the holidays.”
“Dad,” I warn. He knows about Todd. My parents are crazy and held a family meeting over the new relationship. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that was the cringiest dinner we’ve ever had as a family.
“That’s a nice offer,” Mom says—a little stiffer. “I do miss Inez’s sugar cookies. I’m glad to see you home, Nils. Christmas was always such a busy time for you.”
I close my eyes, praying this will stay mellow.
“Well, Brita is home and can hold her own in a rebuttal. I’m not sure where she gets that from,” Dad says, flicking my bun.
“I have no idea.” Mom finally frees a lighter laugh. “Well, you two, I hope you have a wonderful day. Brita, call me later? I want to hear all about your plans for your final semester! I can’t believe you’re graduating. When did this happen, Nils?”
Dad shrugs and clicks his tongue. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
“You two stop,” I tease and nudge Dad’s elbow.
“Well, Merry Christmas, love you.” Mom blows a kiss. “I’ll see you next month!”
Dad snacks on some of the cinnamon rolls from breakfast when we disconnect. I stare at him while he gazes out the window. “Dad? You good?”
“I’m fine,” he says and points at my blank phone screen. “You should be thrilled we can talk with each other now.”
“I am, but I imagine it isn’t easy sometimes.”
Dad kisses the top of my head. “It’s not, but you don’t need to worry about it, okay? That’s a pretty great gift you got from your mom. I think you’ll have a good time.”
“It’ll be a lot of fun. I love the watch too. You guys spoiled me this year,” I say, holding up my wrist to display the rose-gold Apple watch.
“Oh, I had ulterior motives. Now I can track you when you go back to school.”
We laugh easily and are soon overtaken by the others in the house. I often wonder why Inez and Karl don’t move in. They are rarely at their house two blocks away. Dad once offered to find an apartment, but I also know the Jacobsons do what the Jacobsons do. Change is never easy in this house.
When night shadows the streets, and the soft glow of the twinkling white lights burst like stars along the shops I stare out my window. Yes, I look at Clara’s, and just as the Olsen brigade makes their exit into the cold from their bakery. Sigrid Olsen leads the way with Bastien. The kid has grown into a lanky bean pole through the last year, and towers over his mother. Sigrid seems nice enough. When we came close enough to lock eyes once, I discovered her eyes look like mist after an ocean storm.
Sigrid types away on her phone, and not far behind her Elias follows before they turn into the front door of the neighboring apartment building.
I don’t know Elias. I wonder if he gave Axel his playfulness, or Jonas his shy kindness. I smile to the window thinking of how Jonas’s brow furrows whenever he grins. I braid and unbraid the ends of my hair, puzzled at myself. I study Axel—not in a creepy way—because of my infatuation, but when had I started knowing things about Jonas?
I draw in a breath when I see Axel. He follows his father, with Logan. I’m curious why Logan is there on Christmas like I have a right to know. Jonas waits by the door of the bakery with his grandfather as Viggo locks up. Then Jonas links his elbow with his grandfather’s arm when they trudge through the snow to the apartment building. Sigrid stands at the door and takes Viggo the rest of the way.
I feel sad. For the first time that day something shifts all wrong. The Olsens are a normal family just like us. In the moment I can understand Farmor’s frustration. Digging through my black purse I find her letter. Already the envelope is yellowed and creased from my incessant opening. Glancing once more to the street before planning to read the note for the ump
teenth time, my breath rips straight from my lungs. Never has the darkness of my room been so welcome.
Jonas readies to step inside the apartment building, but he stops, and glances across the street. He looks at my bakery. He looks at me. Well, okay he can’t see me. A familiar need to know what thoughts are running through his mind overwhelms me until my stomach hurts.
Then I wonder why the idea of Jonas looking my way sends my head into a spin.
***
The next morning, I wake extra early to help get ready for the after-Christmas sales in the bakery. It is nearly eleven-thirty by the time I find my way to the gas station corner. The black sedan waits near a pump. I grip the small gift bag filled to the brim with ginger pepparkakor to give Jonas. He won’t need to pay for his little spy anymore.
Without a thought I slip into the car, untangle my bag from over my shoulder, and buckle up. “Sorry, I’m a little slower today. Busy morning. How was your…”
All my speaking skills fade like the faint breeze when I look up. Jonas is not in command of the car.
“Axel, hi,” I mutter. My heart makes a run for it and pounds somewhere deep in my ears.
“Hey, Brita,” Axel says. His perfect white smile sends a splay of heat through my stomach. “I hope you don’t mind, Jonas had to go in a little earlier, but needed something done on his car. We switched and I offered to drive you. I have to run some errands for the shop, so I figured it would be pretty perfect.”
“That’s great,” I whisper and lean my head back against the seat. My mind is devoid of clever comments, so I opt for short acceptable responses.
“What’s all that?” Axel asks.
My skull must’ve been empty because I simply stare at him as he pulls into traffic. Axel lifts a brow. Be still! He is smiling at me. I know the smile belonged to me because, simply put, there is no one else in the car.
“Brita?”
I love the way he says my name. Until I realize he keeps saying it. Pay attention!
“What? Sorry, I kind of dazed off.”
Axel laughs. He’s flawless. “I asked you why you brought all those cookies,” he says. “Or is that lunch?"
