by Emily Childs
“Dad, are you kidding me?” I lower my voice to make certain Oscar won’t hear. “That is not part of the deal.”
“Oh, I made it part of the deal. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to enjoy your ride. And I’ve got near perfect instincts, so there’s that. See you at noon, Brit.” He smiles, taps my nose, and turns out the door.
I stand in the dining room, my palms sweaty, my heart thumps in the pit of my stomach. Am I understanding this right? Yes, of course I am, Dad was too pleased with himself for it to mean anything else. In a few hours I’ll ride twenty minutes to Dad’s office with Jonas Olsen. Not Axel Olsen. No, his brooding, crabby twin. This is not the way to cozy up with the Olsen family before Axel begs me to become Mrs. Brita Olsen. Not at all.
Chapter 4
Joy to the World echoes in my ears as I hug my body to block out the cold. The speakers at the station are crackly and the rendition by Whitney Houston seems to mock my sour mood the longer the song plays. Day shoppers and commuters pass by me, some wave but most are too engrossed by their phones or purchases to notice anything else. Nothing feels very joyous in the moment.
I stand on the corner, fight the chill that bites through my coat, and grip a gas-station hot chocolate while guilt wraps around my stomach. Farfar pleasantly bade me farewell when I clocked out of the bakery and rushed off with all my secrets tucked beneath the surface. I lift my chin and remind myself all my remorse is ridiculous. We are both just normal college students using whatever means at our disposal to further our futures. Dad is right, now isn’t the time to dwell on the feud.
And on a brighter thought, this might be my shot at finally breaking down the barbed-wire fences keeping me from Axel. No one said going the back way to his heart isn’t a good option. I can impress the twin brother; Jonas and I will get to know each other. We’ll be civil.
My hair still smells like flour and salt, but at least the tresses fall straight. Despite my reservations on getting to the office, I do want to impress my dad’s colleagues. A letter of recommendation will go a long way with a publishing house someday. I sip the cocoa, a bit surprised gas station hot chocolate has a silky taste, but when a black sedan pulls up close, the final gulp misses my mouth and flows down the front of my coat like a brown river.
Batting at the dripping chocolate, I glare through the passenger window. The insults on the tip of my tongue are soon lost when he meets my harrowing gaze.
“You’re jumpy,” Jonas says, flatly.
An actual huff escapes my throat when I toss my cup into the trash. Taking a deep breath, I secure my messenger bag, and step into the car. Jonas Olsen’s car.
Farfar will set flame to the pies if he finds out.
Jonas moves a file folder stuffed with papers from my seat and tosses it in the back. Scruff from last night has been shaved this morning; now Jonas looks even more like Axel. The twins have distinct differences though. Axel’s eyes are like a summer sky, Jonas’s are like the deepest part of the ocean. Axel has full lips which add to his distinguished smile. Jonas has the full lips, but they are always set firmly in displeasure. Axel is broad and strong, Jonas is made of leaner tone. His navy suit makes him look, I don’t know, lawyerly, while last night Axel looked perfect in sweatpants.
“You could have pulled up in front of me instead of trying to run me over from behind. Then I wouldn’t be so jumpy,” I say as he pulls away from the gas station.
I think he almost laughs. “Valid point,” he says.
Clutching my bag to my chest, I stare out the window. Jonas stays quiet and I believe we can do this. We’ll drive to Dad’s office without awkward small talk. What would I say anyway? Okay, I haven’t said many things to Axel either, but talking to him seems easy if I ever get the nerve.
For example, in high school Axel talked to me a few times, away from the watchful eyes of our grandparents. I played softball with one of his old girlfriends, and he came to a few games. I think he shouted “Nice catch” once. Sometimes Axel acknowledged me in the halls; flirty, confident, and wonderful. I suppose that is part of my infatuation. The ‘wanting something you know you can’t have thing’. I couldn’t have him in high school, the man always had a significant other. And I can’t have him at all because of his last name. He is a unicorn.
I don’t like to think those thoughts too much, sometimes they make my desires sound shallow, and I want a real connection with Axel.
Funny how my memories of Jonas are wholly different. Jonas, the focused, quiet, and uninterested-in-flirting twin. Not much has changed.
I dig into my bag after a few silent minutes and open my well-loved textbook. I breathe in the ink and paper smell, a smile that can’t be helped paints my face. Soon I am back in Venice. I can practically smell the musty cobblestones.
Lost in the plots and betrayal I hardly hear Jonas interrupt. “Othello? You know school is out, right? Or is that just some light reading?”
So, forget the silent drive. “I’m trying to decide on my senior capstone project. Shakespeare is one of the choices, but for your information I do enjoy reading his works. They’re fascinating.”
“Sure, especially that one. I love the way misunderstanding and assumptions bring death. Stirring Sunday read.”
I’m not sure what shocks me more. Jonas speaking to me, albeit mocking me, or that he knows Othello.
“You’ve read this?” I ask shaking the book next to my face.
Jonas shrugs. “You can’t escape high school without a literature class. I only knew about Romeo and Juliet—which I refused to ever read again—and I thought I’d be safe with one about a bit of jealousy. I think Shakespeare was a total killjoy.”
My jaw drops and I quickly come to the defense of my William. “So, you’ve written off the most brilliant playwright in history because of two stories? Both are clearly labeled tragedies, by the way,” I say. “He wrote comedies too. Ever heard of Taming of the Shrew? Much Ado About Nothing? I mean, you can’t deny the man was a brilliant storyteller, a romantic really. Even if some of his plays were tragic, the complexity of it all is stirring, and inspiring and…”
I halt my rant when Jonas chuckles, and I discover his smile is different than Axel’s. Shier, but enough to show his teeth and brighten his eyes. I don’t like the way it makes my stomach tighten.
He holds up one hand. “Okay, I get it. You have a thing for Shakespeare. I would still argue he had a passion for the depressing.”
“Arguing my love of Shakespeare, how very pre-law of you.” I tuck dear William back into my bag.
Jonas shakes his head, the smile hides behind his indifferent expression once again. “I’m not going to be in courtrooms, you know. I like the business side of things, like finance, maybe even patent law someday.”
“Hmm,” I respond and lean my head against the window again. In truth, I want to learn more, but can’t break the innate instinct to be aloof around an Olsen, or maybe I am still shell-shocked an Olsen told me personal goals.
“And you?” he asks when we pass through two more streetlights.
“What?”
“What are you planning to do with English? Read Shakespeare in coffee shops with a little black beret?”
“Very funny.” I make sure he catches my significant eye-roll.
“Are you intentionally avoiding the question, or is it that you don’t want to say them to me?” Jonas’s eyes have a way of shadowing or brightening depending on the tone of his voice.
I don’t answer at first. He studies me and I think I sort of like it, and then that sort of freaks me out. The dark blue of his eyes leaves me unexpectedly wanting to know what he’s thinking. Strange.
I swallow hard after a pause and shake my head. “I’m not avoiding the question. Honestly, I haven’t told anyone what I plan to do except for my mom.”
Jonas stops at a red light. His brow furrows for at least three heartbeats. “Why? Is it some big secret?”
“No,” I insist. “Just something that doesn’t involve inheriting a
bakery.”
Jonas nods, but his shoulders curve forward a bit, almost like an invisible weight presses down. “Now, that I can understand,” he says. “Well, don’t worry. I promise your secret will not leave this car.”
I smile. A bit of the discomfort between us melts away—only a bit. “Fine. I want to work for a publishing house as an acquisitions editor someday.”
“You want to read books for a living?”
“It’s so much more than reading books. Finding that gem, you know?” There is a reason I only mention this to my mother. When I think about it, speak about it, something happens. I lose my mind. Unable to cease a blast of literary passion. Mom tells me I go starry eyed with a stupid smile. And now, Jonas Olsen earns the honor of my whimsy. “The idea of taking something in a raw form and helping polish it until it’s a masterpiece. To be the one someone trusts with their creation—it’s very vulnerable, I would imagine, putting such a personal piece of your soul out there. Books are a window to the soul, that’s what my Farmor always said. I totally believe it though.”
Jonas grins, somewhere between a real smile and smirk.
My caprice fades as I sit straight in my seat again. “But, it’s not a realistic goal.”
“Why not?”
“I think my aunt expects me to come back and help her out in the bakery when Oscar goes to college. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard my Farfar say how sensible I am to choose a career that can be done ‘at home’ so I can help run the business.” I pause. I’ve been rambling. “Sorry, you don’t need to be dumped on.”
Jonas pulls into the law firm’s parking lot by the time I’ve finished vomiting out my fervor. Wow, time went quickly.
His jaw tightens, he reaches into the backseat for his bag. I eye him with a layer of caution and unbuckle my seatbelt. I think I can safely assume Jonas sees me as a literature lunatic at this point.
Halfway out of the car, he speaks. “I think it’s really awesome how passionate you are about your degree. Not many people find that. For what it’s worth, I think you should do what you want to do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not downplaying the pressures of family, I get it. Still, you should go for it. Can I be honest?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before barreling on. “I wasn’t really looking forward to this whole working together thing. I think it’s stupid that I’m keeping this a secret from my family. But maybe it won’t be so bad. After all these years, one of my neighbors turns out to be interesting.”
Jonas stuffs the file folders in a sleek brown bag. His shy smile passes over his mouth briefly before he heads to the building. I stand dumbfounded for a few moments. From the time I woke that morning, I too, dreaded my time with Jonas Olsen. But the car ride teetered on enjoyable.
My cheeks flush as I imagine that just maybe, Jonas might speak of my awesome passion to his twin brother. One can hope.
Chapter 5
The day before Christmas Eve the law firm bustles in preparation for the holidays. By now, I find a normalcy around Jonas. We chat surface talk on our rides to the firm, and hardly see each other during the day. Then I drive home with my dad. Okay, I admit Jonas isn’t so bad, though I still know very little about him. I gather he isn’t too keen allowing people see through his fitted suits and courteous grins.
At the office, I work in a small cubical adjacent to the copier and if the law firm needed to invest in anything, it is a new copier. On my first day I was certain the back wall was being demolished. Jonas, on the other hand, works with the paralegals. The fancy side of the office, as I call the spaces next to a constant snack cart. The wheeled cart has coffee, cocoa, and juice. And muffins! I don’t know who keeps the cart stocked, but they do a marvelous job. I’m not bitter, but the desks where Jonas works are topped with new PCs and have chairs with lumbar support. In my dad’s defense, he did give me a decent chair, but being the only person in the office without any legal drive or knowledge banishes me to exile.
My routine of few encounters with the Olsen enemy has become so normal that my heart leaps into my ears when Jonas taps my shoulder just after the lunch.
“Whoa,” he says with a laugh. I straighten my frilly blouse and tuck my hair behind my ear. He leans against my cubicle. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your daydream.”
“I wasn’t daydreaming,” I insist. “I was working. You’re like a ninja.” Jonas lifts one brow, the corners of his mouth hardly budge, but I’ve learned by now he smiles on the inside. At least that’s what I tell myself. He just stands there, a black leather folder in his hands. Jonas has stripped his suit jacket due to the heater blasting uncommonly hot today, and his sleeves are rolled up, showing off a fancy antique watch. I rock a bit in my chair, waiting. “Um, is there something I can do for you?”
“Oh…” He taps the top of the folder. “Yeah, I need you to look over this. It’s my first report. Your dad wanted it to have a pass through you before he turns it in to Mr. Collins.”
“Talk about daydreaming. That wasn’t so hard to say.” I reach for the file, but Jonas clutches it tighter. “I’m going to need to see the writing if you want me to edit it. That’s kind of how it works.”
“Yeah,” he says. Is he blushing? Jonas glances at the ground—still holding the folder.
I lean over my knees; my voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “I’m getting the sense you don’t really want me to see it.”
“No, that’s not it at all,” he says, handing over the file. Yet, still he stands there, his eyes tracking the report when I take the leather in hand.
“Either you really like me, or you’re really possessive about this folder,” I say, then click my tongue and pretend to inspect the sides. “Not that I blame you. Real leather.” I make an ‘okay’ symbol with my fingers. “Quality stuff.”
The sharp ridges of his cheeks flush crimson. “Laugh it up,” he says, but his shoulders aren’t so stiff anymore. “I’m not much of a writer, okay, but I’ve been working on it since day one. And, well—just know that I’m not much of a writer.”
“I got it,” I say with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t tease you too much. I mean, you are an Olsen—”
“Jonas!” A familiar voice calls from around the thin walls of my cubical.
Jonas looks up, then smiles wider than I’ve seen before. I roll my chair out and groan. Logan Snyder. A former classmate. Crass and crude, and he lives for the Jacobson and Olsen rivalry.
“Hey Logan,” Jonas says, allowing Logan to pull him into a loud, backslapping man-embrace. Logan hasn’t changed much. I’ve seen him twice since he graduated with the twins, but he still has that annoying, arrogant half-smile as though he is the greatest gift to the world. Logan’s raven hair has grown out, and wings over his ears. A shadow of whiskers coats his chin, and he’s dressed in khaki shorts and a blue T-shirt. Two days before Christmas. In Minnesota. Is he trying to prove something to the cold?
“Are you ready?” Logan asks.
“Almost, just turning in my paperwork,” Jonas replies, and nods in my direction.
My neck flushes with heat. I can feel my pale cheeks turning rosy pink as Logan’s aggravating gaze locks onto my desk.
“Brita Jacobson. What are you doing in a place like this? Careful, wouldn’t want anyone to see you speaking with Jonas. What would your grandpa say?”
“So good to see you, Logan,” I mutter, my voice drips with sarcasm. “If you’ll see the staff directory, I think you’ll find this is my father’s law office. But your hilarious comments are always so appreciated.”
Logan laughs and slaps the top of my cubical wall as though he’s never been so entertained. “Always the same sass, Brita. I’ve missed that.”
“I’m sure you have.” I turn my attention back to the stack of tax grant proposals for businesses in the area. Not the most riveting piece I’ve ever edited, but as I keep saying, this is a notch in a resume.
Thankfully, Logan turns back to Jonas. “You’re going to wear that?”
“I’m going to change when we get there,” Jonas says.
“Come on you guys.” A second voice—a voice I know all too well—whispers by my desk.
I roll my seat back. No, I’m not ready for this. Not at a law office. Not with so many people around. Not next to Jonas. But that thought leaves me wondering why I care what Jonas thinks.
Axel stalks toward the back of the offices. His white teeth gleam in the afternoon light. Slow motion takes hold. I hear sappy music, an out-of-nowhere-breeze ruffles his hair. He winks. Curse that wink. Somewhere in the recesses of my daydreaming mind I know that I’m staring, gaping really, but Axel’s beautiful qualities deserve admiration.
“Brita, nice of you to let my brother hang around here.” Axel is speaking.
Talk, Brita! I’m certain if people knew the truth of my feelings then they would find me a silly, ridiculous woman with an over-the-top crush. But I’m also certain those people have never seen Axel. He’s funny, charming, delicious. Have I mentioned his smile?
“Uh, yeah no problem,” I say, fiddling with the yellow post-it notes on my desk. The shame of my repulsive reply stabs along my back. My voice is hardly louder than a whisper. Taking a deep breath, I remind myself what Farfar always said. Where do we come from? Vikings! Be a Viking, Brita. “How are you enjoying your break, Axel?”
Axel leans on his forearms over my cubical wall. Everyone else disappears. I cross my leg without thinking and put the end of my pen between my teeth before I realize it is the actual pen point and I’ve stabbed my tongue with blue ink.
The ground shifts when the Vikings roll in their graves.
“It’s been great,” he says. “I was going to do a clinical with a physical therapist in New Jersey, but he had a family emergency. So, home it is.” His black T-shirt beneath his suave jacket pulls tightly over his broad shoulders. He nudges his brother’s shoulder. “I didn’t know Jonas would be such a stiff and work all through the break, but I have to admit it’s kind of fun keeping his little secret.”