A Little Like Romeo: A Sweet Enemies to Lovers Romance (A Little Love Book 1)

by Emily Childs

  Dad opens his mouth to say something but pauses when we hear shouts outside. He meets my gaze, there is concern in his pale blue. I hold my breath, my stomach in knots, because I know that voice. I know both voices.

  Outside, Philip Jacobson and Viggo Olsen are about to start a war.

  Chapter 26

  I rush down the stairs, Dad right behind me. I’m met with Oscar peering out the window of the front door. Inez in the living room. My aunt sees me, her eyes look wet. “Brita, don’t,” she starts.

  “Are you kidding me?” I say, ripping open the door. “This is not happening, not like this.”

  Picture this: Two seventy-something men staggering, one with a cane, the other with a hunch, to the middle of the street, shouting in a salad of English-Scandinavian curse words and words I’m not sure are in either dictionary.

  The bell over our door rings cheerily as I tear out of the house after my grandfather. More than this ridiculous sparring match (which is drawing a crowd on the sidewalk) he’s so angry that I’m concerned he’s going to fall.

  “Farfar stop!” I cry out.

  He glances over his shoulder, leaving a glare I can feel beneath my skin before he faces Viggo again. “You keep your house out of mine,” my grandfather roars. “If I see you or yours near my grand—”

  “Philip, if you think I’d let my family mingle with yours, then you’ve lost your mind. You slimy cheat. You, you dishonest fool. I’d rather go to my grave before I see the Olsens embrace a Jacobson.”

  I cover my mouth, pulse racing as my grandfather into the road. What do they think they’re going to do? Have a brawl right here in the middle of the street? Surrounding us are people whipping out cell phones, ready to catch a moment they doubtless find hilarious, between two old men who are about to start swinging.

  I see Jonas crash out of Clara’s, followed by his parents. He catches my eye, and starts chasing Viggo the same as I’m chasing my grandfather.

  Farfar raises his cane. “Keep him away, Viggo. I’m warning you, my granddaughter will no longer be manipulated by—”

  “I’m not!” I don’t realize how loudly I shout the words until a hush ripples down the street. Both Viggo and Farfar watch me, aghast. My eyes narrow, and I turn away from the stubborn men, and look to Jonas who is a mere ten feet away. “I am not being manipulated, Farfar. This needs to stop. Right now.”

  “Brita, I don’t blame you,” he says. “I know how conniving—”

  “Stop,” I shout again. I’m unnerved by the way I’m speaking to my grandfather. I’ve never shouted at him. We’ve always been loving, and tender in our house, but this new, fiery need to stand for Jonas has overtaken me. “I won’t let you talk about Jonas, or his family like this anymore.”

  “Jonas,” Viggo hisses, glaring at his grandson when he stalks past him to me.

  Jonas ignores him, eyes on me, until he holds out his hand. I swallow past the lump of anxiety in my throat and thread my fingers with his. “Guys,” he says to his family. “This is ridiculous. Look what you’re doing.” He signals to the spectators.

  “What are you doing?” Viggo grumbles.

  Jonas squeezes my hand, gives me one of his shy grins. “I’m choosing her,” he says.

  I suck in a sharp breath, afraid what will happen to him now, yet my heart burns for this man.

  “I fell in love with Brita, and I’m not letting her go just because you two,” he says, gesturing to both our grandfathers, “can’t get along.”

  “You’ll ruin this family, boy,” Viggo says.

  I consider for a moment that I might start shouting at him like my own family, but I stop. Elias is moving.

  “Dad,” Elias says, as though he’s exhausted. “That’s enough.”

  Viggo starts spluttering, and I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears when Sigrid lifts her chin and tromps to where Jonas and I are standing in the road. Elias was the one to speak up first, but he hesitates more than his wife. Sig is near us, she looks at me with caution, but smiles and grips Jonas’s arm. “I always hoped this would happen. You’re braver than me,” she tells him softly, her eyes drifting back to me. “Both of you.”

  Elias is talking to Viggo. I turn to my side of the street. Farfar looks rather pleased Viggo’s family is turning against him, but his face pales when Dad walks past him, toward us, hands shoved into his pockets.

  “Nils,” Farfar cries out. “Don’t you dare.”

  I blink through the haze in my eyes and wrap my hands around Jonas’s arm when my father doesn’t stop and joins us. He nods at Jonas’s mom.

  “Sig,” he says. “It’s been awhile since we’ve talked.”

  She chuckles. “Since ninth grade Biology.”

  Dad glances at Jonas. For the first time, Jonas looks uneasy. Then again, he just professed love for Nils Jacobson’s daughter in the middle of the street. I think my dad enjoys his discomfort a little too much before he finally holds out his hand (Farfar curses a few times in Swedish) and takes Jonas’s.

  “You have me and Brita’s mom behind you guys.” A simple thing to say, but it brings some of the color back to Jonas’s face.

  “And us,” Sig says.

  I hold my breath. Elias stands next to her now, his eyes on my dad. I can feel the tension, left there to grow between two men who have no reason not to like each other beyond a feud begun by their parents. Then, slowly, and maybe a little awkwardly, my dad and Elias shake hands. They don’t say anything, but sort of nod a few times as though there is an unspoken understanding.

  I’ll take what I can get.

  “This changes nothing,” Farfar says in a bit of a growl. He snaps his eyes back to Viggo. “Nothing. I’ll not forget what you did, how you broke Hanna’s heart.”

  “What I did?” Viggo shouts back. “You tried to destroy me. There is scum on the street with more moral fiber than you.”

  I wrap my arms around Jonas, he tilts my head up with his fingers beneath my chin.

  “We knew it would take time,” he whispers.

  Farfar turns on his heel, storming—as fast as he can—back toward our house. Viggo follows suit. My stomach is in knots. Things changed, we confessed, but I still feel as though we’ve somehow broken our families. An irreparable wound that we can’t fix.

  “Hey!” Oscar shouts from the front window. “Bastien! Want to go to the Burger Room tonight with Josh? He says Amy Murdock and her friends will be there.”

  Those of us in the streets whip our head back to Clara’s where a window is open and Bastien sits behind the mesh screen.

  “No way,” he calls back. “I’m never showing my face again. How much do you want to bet the entire team is going to see this on YouTube by tomorrow?”

  Sig and Elias laugh softly. I feel lighter because it’s a little funny. Inside our house, Inez scolds Oscar, Viggo shouts at his youngest grandson in Danish, and Farfar shakes his head, muttering about family loyalty.

  I wish, more than I’ve wished before, that I could find a way to heal the scabrous pustule of a hole that shredded these old men apart.

  But I have no idea where to even begin.

  ***

  The cuckoo clock chimes five the next morning. When I come downstairs, my body aches as though I’ve been running for hours without stopping. I slept like a tense board all night.

  Battle raged inside the Jacobson home, only pausing when we received an update call on Agnes from Uncle Karl. We put up the white flag to learn she’s breathing without help of extra oxygen now, and should be home by tomorrow night. But after the call ended, peace became a forgotten notion. Farfar and Dad argued after dinner (at least my grandfather is speaking to him), and Oscar began a fight with Inez when he insisted he was going to follow his rogue cousin, and be friends with Bastien. Turns out another Jacobson and Olsen get along well.

  We should’ve gone home last night, but Jonas was dragged into his own family drama. In his text last night, turns out Axel was even forced to sit and ar
gue over the phone. Apparently, Viggo about split his skin when Axel admitted he wholly encouraged this forbidden romance story. Now, I’m simply desperate to escape before a new battle begins.

  The bottom stair creaks, as I attempt to leave before the house wakes. I hear a grunt in the front room.

  “Sneaking away, I see.”

  My shoulders slump. “Farfar, I think it’s better if I go.”

  He harrumphs, keeping his eyes locked on the newspaper in his hands. “With him.”

  “Yes,” I say, mouth tight. “And you’ll need to get used to it.”

  “Or?”

  My lip trembles, and I’m ashamed when my voice breaks. “You’ll lose me.”

  He doesn’t grunt, but he doesn’t say anything, the newspaper shudders in his hands. I sigh, and dare to walk over to him as I see Jonas’s headlights pull up outside. He has until tonight to take his last midterm; we really need to get back.

  I sit stiffly in the rocking chair next to his. “I hate saying that, Farfar, but if you’d simply get to know Jonas, I know you’d see what I do.”

  “Did you know we were partners?” he snaps.

  I assume he means Viggo. “In business?”

  “Jah. And he took my money, ӓlskling. Because of him, your grandmother and I had to sell our belongings just to pay for our visas to stay here. We lost everything. Because of him. It is a betrayal to me, to your grandmother, associating with that family.”

  I hesitate, then wipe a rogue tear running down my face. Digging into my purse, I take out the yellowed, creased letter from my grandmother. “I need to go, Farfar, but I think . . . I think you ought to read this. Please do. It’s what Farmor wanted me to know, and I think she’d want you to see it right now too.”

  He eyes the letter. I know he recognizes it, but he doesn’t take it. Slowly, I set the paper on the table. If anyone can get through to him, it’s my grandmother.

  “I love you, and I didn’t betray you. I simply found happiness. I hope you’ll see that someday.”

  Outside the morning air cuts me to the bone, but Jonas has his car warm; his hand is even warmer when I take it mine.

  “You survived,” I say.

  He cants his head, his thumb brushing a tear I missed on my cheek. “Barely. You okay?”

  I shake my head. “I guess I had this dream that it would be smooth, and everyone would be happy for us. I told my grandpa he’d lose me, and . . . I think he’s considering it.”

  Jonas pulls onto the street, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. “They’ll come around, Brit.”

  “At least our parents are cool,” I say with a snort.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid of your dad than yesterday.”

  I laugh, the tension melting off my shoulders. “I saved you. We had a talk before the block flipped into a warzone. He was prepared for that delicious bombshell you dropped.”

  He grins, but I see red tinge the tip of his ears. “Once I started talking it just all fell out.”

  We go quiet for a few minutes. “Jonas,” I say. “My grandpa said that yours was his business partner, and that he took his money. That sounds . . . far-fetched, but what do you think?”

  Jonas furrows his brow. “My grandparents were living in a hostel when they started Clara’s. They were basically homeless, and he’s always blamed their poverty on your grandpa.”

  “If their stories are true then at least one would’ve had some money to start the bakeries.”

  Jonas nods, a furrow tugs at his brow. He’s thinking.

  “I don’t know,” he finally says. “But I think it might be worth finding out a few things.”

  I grin. “I like this sly side of you.” Pressing my lips against his neck, I enjoy too much when he shudders as I kiss his skin.

  “Hey, keep your distance, Jacobson,” he tells me. “You keep doing that, and we’re going to crash, no other way to put it.”

  The further we go from home, the more I laugh, the more pressure leaves my chest. By the time we make it back to campus, I know—Jonas makes everything just . . . right.

  Chapter 27

  “Aren’t you going out with Ben?” I ask Jane two days later, when she stomps back into the apartment an hour after leaving.

  “No,” she snaps, pouring herself a glass of soda. Jane hates soda. “He’s a total jerk, and I’m writing him off as a bad memory right . . . now.” She tips her glass back and guzzles the whole thing.

  I bite my lip. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Two girls, Brit. He thought he could juggle two girls and I wouldn’t find out. Excuse me. Just who does he think he is?”

  “An idiot,” I say. “Because you’re amazing.”

  “You have to say that,” she says plopping onto the sofa.

  “Nope, I don’t, but you are, and Ben is dumb. I didn’t like him.”

  Jane snorts and lifts her head. “You didn’t?”

  “Truly didn’t,” I say. “Remember, he tried to school me on my capstone. Uh, what’s his major again?”

  She laughs loudly. “That’s right, I forgot he did that. No one messes with you and your lit-nerd stuff.”

  I nod deliberately. “The day he tried to tell me I didn’t know Brönte is the day he lost me.”

  Jane starts to laugh, but we both jolt when there is a furious knock at the door. When Jane answers, Jonas rushes inside, face flushed.

  “What’s wrong?” I say, sitting straight.

  He kisses me quickly, his lips cold from being outside. Sitting next to me, he slaps a file folder onto our scuffed coffee table. “I found it.”

  Jane lifts a brow. “Joe did you bring a shiny thing to distract me?”

  He glances at me curiously. I pat his arm. “Ben is a jerk.”

  “Then yes,” he says. “I found what our grandpas are talking about. When they lost their business.”

  My eyes go wide and I lean forward. “You’re kidding, what is it?”

  Jonas snatches the file folder and goes into a frenzied explanation of his cunning dig through old business sale records, using his mom’s connections with the head librarian who also runs the Lindström historical society, and ruffling up a little dirt on some shady business practices, rampant among immigrants at the time.

  By the end, Jane is studying the sheets of old document copies Jonas brought with a stick of licorice between her teeth. I slouch against the cushions, entirely overwhelmed. Jonas smiles at me. “Well, how are we going to tell them?”

  I shake my head. “Getting them into a room together is one of those impossible things in life.”

  He scrubs his face and takes one of the papers from Jane. “We’ve got to though. I mean, they need to know, right?”

  Holding his hand, I nod. “Yes, one hundred percent, they need to know.”

  Viggo and Farfar need to know, but getting them to listen, and forgive. Well, that is an entirely different problem, now isn’t it.

  ***

  Friday after classes, Jonas and I make the drive to Lindström, but instead of heading to the bakeries, we go to the high school. Oscar and Bastien’s championship game is the perfect place to have our families shoved together on neutral ground.

  Music blasts across the gymnasium, the rival school crowd pounds their feet, while Lindström claps and jeers back as the teams are introduced. In the crowd I see Dad sitting next to Agnes who looks like her old self again. Farfar is next to Karl, clapping when Oscar waves from the court. I haven’t heard if he read the letter. I hope since he hasn’t disowned me yet, that means he’s at least scanned it.

  Sitting a dozen families away are the Olsens. Clapping along, even though Bastien is on the sidelines with the younger players.

  “Which side,” I shout at Jonas over the speakers.

  “Oh, you guys don’t want to sit with them; time to make a new united bench.”

  We both whip around at the reply since Jonas was not the one to answer. Axel stands behind us, that white grin back in place as
always. My stomach backflips. This is the first time we three have been together, everything out in the open, and thankfully without Logan causing problems.

  Jonas eases my discontent when he laughs and claps his brother on the back. “You made it. I didn’t think you were coming.”

  “I wasn’t, but then Bass kept sending these whiny texts about how I never support him, like I’m on a vacation. Then he told me there’s going to be more family drama.” He grins at me. “Since I missed the last one, I couldn’t miss this.”

  Axel has the talent to calm a situation, and by the time we find space at the front of the bleachers I forget this should be awkward, and it’s as though Jonas and I have always been. My time with Axel is nothing more than a weird memory.

  All through the game, I feel the prickle of steely eyes pinned to our backs. Sometimes I’m brave and peer over my shoulder, and I’ll see Inez or Farfar quickly draw their gaze back to the game. Axel watches the Olsens and keeps giving reports in an exaggerated way to keep us smiling. At halftime Agnes plops next to me. She waves her pink bunny at Jonas, smiling.

  “Hey, you brought him out,” Jonas says. “How’s he feeling?”

  “Better.” She looks at Axel. “Who’s he?”

  “My mean brother; remember I told you about him,” Jonas says, drawing Axel’s eyes from his phone.

  “Hey, Brit is this your cousin?” Axel’s interest is piqued. “Come here,” he says to Agnes. “I want you to tell me all about those things you wear in your shoes. I bet they make you go fast.”

  Agnes seems thrilled and scurries to sit next to Axel. Jonas scoffs. “He’s already a physical therapist. Look how excited he is over those shoe inserts.”

  I laugh, loving everything about this moment. For one thing Axel and Agnes are proudly on our team, for another, Inez knows her daughter is giggling next to an Olsen and, well, she’s allowing it. Progress.

  When the final buzzer goes off, our team won. I take that as a sign that the fates are smiling on this night. Squeezing Jonas’s hand, I give him a tight smile. “Do we have to?”

  “Yes,” Axel answers for him. “You do. Aggie and I are waiting. We even discussed supplying the popcorn.”