Chapter 150 She Was Arrested Later

Chapter 150 She Was Arrested Later

Stephanie's POV

I froze for a second. I hadn't expected Malcolm to recognize me after all these years.

I nodded quickly. "Yes, that's me—Stephanie Johnson. You still remember me?"

Malcolm immediately set down the fish he was frying and came around the counter.

He walked over with a smile and gently ruffled my cheek.

"How could I forget? You used to come here with your mom all the time when you were little. Sometimes she'd tease you and say she wasn't buying you fish and chips, and you'd just throw yourself down right in front of the counter and roll around crying."

My face instantly burned red-hot.

A customer waiting in line overheard and leaned in for a closer look. Then they clapped their hands. "Oh yeah! I remember that too! I came in a few times and caught you throwing a tantrum right at the counter!"

I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

I'd thought everyone had forgotten those mortifying childhood moments, but apparently some people remembered them crystal clear.

I instinctively turned around—and sure enough, Christopher's lips were quirked up in a grin. He was clearly trying not to laugh, but his shoulders were shaking slightly.

"Don't you dare laugh!" I reached up and covered his mouth. "I mean it—don't laugh!"

He gently caught my wrist and pulled my hand down, his tone indulgent. "Okay, okay, I won't laugh. I'm not laughing."

Then he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, "Stephanie, you were adorable when you were little."

My blush spread all the way down to my neck. I gave up and covered my entire face with both hands, too embarrassed to look up.

Malcolm chuckled and patted my shoulder, gesturing for us to sit. "Come on, sit down. Today's on the house. Order whatever you want—don't be shy."

"Oh, we couldn't possibly—" I started to wave him off.

"Don't even start. You haven't been back in over a decade, and you still came to visit my old place. That makes me happy. If you try to pay, then I'll be upset." Malcolm's tone was firm.

I smiled and nodded in thanks. The four of us settled into an old wooden table in the corner.

The table was covered with a checkered cloth, its edges faded from years of washing. There was a crooked scratch carved into one corner—probably left by some kid years ago.

I ran my fingers over the mark, feeling a little dazed.

Malcolm busied himself at the stove, the sizzle of the fryer mixing with the sea breeze drifting in through the window. This little shop was almost exactly the same as it had been over a decade ago. Even the potted plant by the counter hadn't changed.

He flipped the fish in the pan and asked casually over his shoulder, "How are your parents? Are they doing okay?"

"They're doing well," I answered softly. "They're settled in Averton City now. Work's stable, and they're healthy."

"Good, good." Malcolm nodded repeatedly, then asked, "You finished college, right? What'd you study?"

"I just graduated recently. I studied art and painting."

"Painting, huh?" Malcolm glanced back at me, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "I remember you loved drawing when you were little. Every time you came to eat, you'd ask me for paper and pens to doodle. And you never took them home—you'd insist on taping them all over my wall, said it was decoration."

He gestured with his chin toward the wall behind him.

I followed his gaze. The entire wall was covered in yellowed sheets of paper. Crooked suns, shapeless dogs, flowers you could barely make out.

The drawings were old—edges curled, colors faded—but they'd been preserved perfectly. Not a single one missing.

My throat tightened unexpectedly, a warm ache spreading through my chest.

Malcolm kept chatting, asking about college. When he heard I'd been a cheerleading captain, he laughed so hard he could barely contain himself.

"I knew it! You were always so lively and loved to dance. I remember one time I teased you and said if you danced for me, I'd give you a free meal. You spun around in circles right there in front of the counter."

I smiled faintly and picked up a piece of freshly fried fish. The crispy batter cracked between my teeth, the tender, piping-hot fish inside melting on my tongue. The familiar taste flooded my mouth, easing the sting behind my eyes just a little.

"By the way, that little girl who used to come with you," Malcolm said suddenly, "wasn't her name Yasmin?"

I froze mid-bite.

Malcolm didn't notice my reaction and kept reminiscing. "She was so quiet, so well-behaved. Never made a fuss. She'd always follow behind you and help carry things. When your mom brought you two over, she'd just sit there quietly, didn't talk much, but she was always smiling. She loved my fries—always ate two servings every time."

He set down a fresh plate of fries on the table and shook his head gently. "Such a sweet girl. If only she were still here..."

The utensils in my hand hung frozen in midair, the piece of fish suspended above my plate, refusing to fall.

Christopher spoke up smoothly, steering the conversation away. "Sir, how long have you been running this place? It looks like it's been here for years."

Malcolm immediately perked up. "Oh, for sure—over thirty years now. I took over when I was barely twenty..."

I stared down at the steaming fries on my plate. Buried memories surged up like a tide, all at once.

I suddenly remembered how Yasmin and I used to squeeze into this exact corner every time we came here.

She'd sit quietly beside me and finish all the fries I couldn't eat. We'd secretly daydream about the future—how once we saved enough money, we'd buy Malcolm's recipe and open our own little shop in a bigger city, so everyone could taste Harborcrest.

We'd even planned to design the menu together. She'd once drawn a shop sign on a napkin—crooked and ugly—but we'd both loved it so much.

That napkin was long gone, but I could still clearly picture its clumsy outline.

I smiled faintly, then quickly pressed my lips flat again.

Those days had been so, so good.

We'd sat in the corner of this tiny old shop, hot fish and chips in front of us, talking about those innocent, maybe-impossible futures.

We'd been so sure the future would come just as we'd imagined. We thought we'd grow up together, open a shop together, go farther together.

But in the end, she stayed in that summer forever. Stayed in that endless sea.

Only I walked the rest of the road we'd promised to walk together.

I sniffled quietly, forcing down the ache rising in my chest.

Malcolm seemed to remember something and turned to look at me seriously. "By the way, Stephanie, do you remember that teacher from the orphanage who used to take care of Yasmin?"

My heartbeat skipped violently. That bitter, wretched figure flashed into my mind.

I could still clearly see her pointing at my face, screaming hysterically that I was a murderer.

My fingers tightened around my fork. I nodded lightly. "I remember."

Malcolm wiped the grease off his hands and let out a long sigh, his tone heavy with feeling. "She got arrested."

I snapped my head up, eyes wide with shock. "What?"