Chapter 3: Bitter Sweets and Rival Hearts

Sam trailed Evan Walker around Maple Heights, the duffel bag on his shoulder growing heavier and heavier, regretting not having Charlie come instead. The town was bustling—old men sitting on the hardware store bench, a couple of high school kids skateboarding down Main. The smell of fresh donuts and strong coffee drifted out the open door of the bakery, making Sam’s stomach growl.

"Grab thirty-six of those fans for the college crowd." Evan’s tone was distracted, eyes fixed on the window display of the stationers.

Sam did the math and frowned. That didn’t add up.

"There are thirty-seven teachers and classmates at the college. Why buy thirty-six?"

Evan tapped Sam on the head with his fan—a light, teasing smack that still stung a little:

"Genius, do you want to give one to that Walters guy too?"

Sam followed sulkily, finding his boss’s thoughts hard to understand. Clearly, the two used to be on good terms. He fiddled with the duffel’s strap, glancing sideways at Evan as if searching for a clue.

When they first started college, the professor praised Evan’s extraordinary talent, able to read the library’s collection at a glance, never forgetting what he read. No one at the college could beat him—not at chess, not at debate, not even in a late-night trivia contest at Jack’s Bar.

Of course, at first, Noah Walters couldn’t beat him either. Noah was all sharp edges and stubbornness, always front row, always raising his hand.

Evan would lounge on a friend’s lap at a party, drinking and feeling pleased:

"Noah’s smart and good-looking, but it’s a shame he met me. Poor kid who only knows to study hard has no future."

But later, that hard-studying Noah Walters surpassed him. It happened slow, then all at once. Noah started winning scholarships, taking home medals, getting his name on every honor roll in town.

Evan’s smile couldn’t hold up anymore. His jokes grew sharper, his laughter a little more forced, as if trying to convince himself nothing had changed.

But Evan had always been clever and full of tricks. He’d find a way to tip the scales, even if he had to tilt the whole world to do it.

When Emily arrived, Evan quickly came up with an idea. He always liked being in control, liked having the last word.

He had Emily bake pies and make sandwiches, saying they were for the college as a late-night snack. He painted it as a tradition, like something his mother used to do, but I could tell he wanted to show off.

Emily thought Evan valued her. She was happy, didn’t ask the housekeeper for help, cheerfully washed three pounds of apples and ten pounds of flour, watched the oven for two nights, wrapped everything neatly in wax paper, and delivered them herself under the blazing sun. She even tied little bows around each bundle, her hands stained with cinnamon and hope.

Of course, Evan didn’t care for these sweet things; he just wanted to use them to tease Noah. It was a show, plain and simple—a way to remind Noah who held the cards.

As soon as Emily brought them, Evan threw them away in front of her. He made a big show of it, tossing the treats into the trash with a flourish. The sweetness hung in the air, wasted.

He thought Noah was poor and would pick them up to eat. It was a petty move, one meant to sting.

But before Noah came, Emily was already so angry she was about to cry. Her cheeks blotched, fists balled at her sides, she looked like she might stomp her foot or burst into tears. She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, embarrassed to let anyone see her cry over something so small.

It was Noah who couldn’t stand it, picked up the sandwiches, dusted off the wax paper, and took a bite:

"Really good." He looked her in the eyes, voice steady and warm, and something in her face relaxed just a little.

Emily broke into a smile through her tears, a little embarrassed:

"I picked those apples one by one and peeled them all myself."

Seeing the two of them looking like a perfect pair, Evan felt as if a pit was stuck in his heart, even more uncomfortable. He glanced away, jaw tight, pretending he didn’t care.

Out of respect for the professor’s lecture on friendship, he still invited Noah to take a boat ride and listen to music. It was the kind of thing people did here—an afternoon on the river, radio turned up, breeze cool and sweet off the water.

Noah glanced at the girl beside him and just stepped back and nodded politely:

"Noah’s already engaged."

He even had the singer sigh softly: 'It’s easy to find a treasure, hard to find someone who really cares.' The song drifted over the water, the words heavy with meaning, making everyone quiet for a moment.

Thinking of this, Evan gritted his teeth and sneered:

"The Walters family is poor and stingy. Their fiancée will probably run away the very night she marries in. Whoever marries that blockhead Noah will have a hard life. He’s never even held a girl’s hand. How would he know how to treat a woman?"

Thinking of Noah’s unromantic ways—and thinking of all the things Evan had bought to marry Emily. The wine had to be at least twenty years old, the wedding dress custom-made, the pickup decorated by half the town. Even marrying a movie star wouldn’t be so grand. He ticked off the expenses in his mind, as if the price tag could buy happiness.

Sam quickly flattered him:

"Whoever marries into the Walters family is practically a widow. Evan’s the one who knows love, or why else would Emily work so hard to save up to marry you? By the time the Walters family has money to marry, your kid with Emily will be old enough to buy groceries on their own."

Pleased by Sam’s words, Evan closed his fan but pretended to be troubled. He made a show of sighing, head tilted to the side:

"I didn’t really want to marry, but seeing her so sincere, I’ll reluctantly do it. Once she’s in the door, I’ll wear down her temper, and she’ll be completely devoted."

Sam was curious and asked:

"Then why did you have me take Emily’s money ten days ago? Aren’t you afraid she won’t marry?"

Evan smiled faintly:

"Her aunt wouldn’t keep her as another mouth to feed. She has nowhere to go. If she doesn’t marry me, who else can she marry?"

Sam thought about it and felt Evan was indeed clever. He nodded, shifting the duffel bag to his other shoulder, squinting at the hot sunlight.

The manager of the jewelry shop next door saw Evan spending freely and came over to pitch:

"Sir, take a look at our shop. Get a set of five gold rings for your bride—the craftsmanship is worth it."

As the jeweler rattled on, he saw hanging on the maple rack…