The Oath Operation (Marriage Mission #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

T wo years ago…

Fish Pike lifted his gaze to the neon sign flickering to life in the early morning light. The establishment looked like any other he’d worked in since his separation from the military—dim lights, polished glass, the faint hum of a refrigerator from the back, the pungent odor of meat-soaked cooking oils. And yet, something about the facade of Chow Town drew him closer. Maybe it was the promise of new beginnings or the faint aroma of spices wafting through the slightly open door. He wasn’t sure, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot.

The nearly empty parking lot was serene. That was a contrast to the chaos inside his mind. For the last five years, Fish had more in common with a duck on a pond than a former EOD specialist. Back in his Army days, Fish's hands had been steady as a rock when disarming explosives. His hands were fine; it was his feet that wouldn't keep still.

His toes would tap when he stood still. His knees would bounce when he sat. And always, his body remained tense, as though he was raring to run at any minute. Except right now.

He stood still, looking into the window of the restaurant. The layout was good, would easily fit seventy-five diners, providing enough space to accommodate peak times without overwhelming the kitchen and staff. It would keep both his hands and his feet busy, which was what Fish needed.

The tranquility was abruptly shattered by the screeching of tires. An expensive car pulled into the lot, skidding rocks in Fish's direction. He didn't flinch. After being fired at in combat zones, rocks were a mere annoyance.

A skinny man in a fitted suit stepped out of the car, exuding an air of entitlement. Without a second glance, he tossed his keys to Fish. "Park it," he said curtly, assuming Fish was a valet, despite the restaurant not being open yet.

Fish stared at the keys in his hand, then at the retreating back of the man. Half a mind to key the car or toss the keys into the street flashed through his thoughts, but the fight had left him long ago, drained out during his last mission. With a sigh, he set the keys on the roof of the car. If someone came by and stole it, that wasn’t Fish's problem.

The sound of a door creaking open caught his attention. A pretty blond woman poked her head out, her eyes sparkling intelligence and a hint of amusement. "Mr. Pike?"

Fish nodded, taking a step forward. "That's me."

"Jacqui Chou," she introduced herself, stepping fully into the sunlight.

She was the accomplished Asian fusion chef Fish was interested in working under. He'd come to the United States as a toddler, having been adopted by American parents. He was eager to study his Asian roots even though the Chous were Chinese and Fish had been born in Korea.

As Fish followed her inside, he was hit by a symphony of scents—garlic, ginger, soy sauce mingling with something sweet and citrusy. The kitchen was a hub of activity, despite the restaurant being closed. Pots clanged, water hissed, and cooks moved in a choreographed dance of culinary creation.

Fish’s senses were on high alert, every sound and smell amplifying the surrealness of the moment. He bounced on his toes, eager to dive into the action. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.

Chef Jacqui led him on a tour of the kitchen as she began her interview questions. "So, Mr. Pike, tell me about your culinary background."

"Call me Fish."

She lifted an eyebrow at that. Then nodded, making a note.

"I’ve worked in a few places since leaving the military," he began, choosing his words carefully. "But I’ve always been drawn to fusion cuisine. It’s always appeared to be like creating harmony out of chaos."

"I like that; harmony out of chaos. It's a good philosophy."

Instead of taking him back into her office, Chef Jacqui stopped at a workstation and gestured to the array of fresh ingredients laid out. Pans clanged, knives collided with chopping boards, and meat sizzled, hitting hot oil.

"Let's see what you can do," she said, handing Fish a knife. "I want you to prepare a simple stir-fry. Here are my specifications."

Fish nodded, rolling up his sleeves. "Yes, Chef." He was used to following orders, but this felt different—more exciting, more challenging. He started chopping the vegetables, his movements swift and precise. The rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board was almost soothing. As he worked, he felt Chef Jacqui's gaze on him, a silent but palpable pressure.

"Good knife skills," she commented, nodding in approval.

Fish moved to the stove, heating the wok until it was smoking hot, then adding oil. He tossed in the vegetables, watching the colors brighten as they cooked. He added the sauce with a practiced hand that tossed the contents of the pan, causing them all to stir without a spatula. He was in his element, the chaos of the kitchen grounding him in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.

Finally, he plated the dish, handing it to Chef Jacqui with a hopeful grimace. She took a bite, her expression inscrutable at first. The kitchen seemed to hold its breath, the usual clatter and noise fading into the background. Fish looked up to see the others in the kitchen frozen at a standstill as they watched for their leader's verdict.

Chef Jacqui chewed thoughtfully, her eyes closed. Fish found himself noticing her features—the way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the curve of her lips as she tasted the food. She was undeniably pretty, but he felt no spark, no pull of attraction. Since coming back to civilian life, feelings like that had been rare, almost nonexistent.

Chef Jacqui opened her eyes and smiled. "This is really good, Fish. You've got a natural talent."

"Thanks, Chef," Fish replied, trying to muster some enthusiasm. Before he could dwell on his own emotional numbness, the door to the kitchen swung open, and in flitted a woman who looked like Chef Jacqui but with a more delicate, almost elf-like quality.

Her hair was black, cut short in a pixie style that framed her delicate features perfectly. Her eyes were dark, full of warmth and intelligence, and they sparkled with laughter. Her skin was smooth and fair, with a natural, healthy glow. She moved with a grace that seemed almost effortless, and when she smiled, it was as if the whole room brightened. She reminded Fish of the cartoon character Mulan, with her petite frame and gentle yet determined presence.

Fish’s heart seemed to explode in his chest, like a cannon going off. He’d never felt anything quite like it. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The air around him shimmered with a new kind of energy, making his senses tingle. His toes tapped a rhythm that moved him away from the stove and toward her. He swore he heard music, a beeping sound that was coming from her.

"Jules, your numbers are low," Chef Jacqui said, grabbing the woman's slim arm and exposing a sleek, small device attached to her skin. It was some sort of monitor with a tiny screen that displayed flashing red numbers. The beeping sound was coming from there.

"I know, I know. I was just coming in for a banana."

"You need to watch your sugar levels better."

"Okay, Mom."

The words were said sarcastically. There was no way this was mother and daughter. More likely sisters.

Fish watched the pixie—Jules—bite into the white meat of a banana. He swallowed as her throat worked to follow the fruit. He gulped as she licked her lips and then opened her mouth to take another bite. Then her eyes alighted on him. He knew he was staring.

"This the new sous chef?" she asked, mouth full.

"We're in the middle of an interview. You just interrupted. Fish, this is my younger sister, Jules. She's the pastry chef opening the bakery next door."

"Fish?" Jules asked.

"It's Min-ho. Min-ho Pike."

"Oh, I get it," Jules giggled. "That's fun. I'm named after Julia Child. But I like yours better." She held out a small tray of pastries. "Would you like to try one? They're fresh out of the oven."

Fish didn’t have a sweet tooth, but he couldn’t say no. He reached out and took one of the treats, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief moment. The contact sent a shiver down his spine.

He took a bite, and his senses awakened all at once. His nostrils flared at the sweetness. His ears twitched at the crunch of the flaky exterior. His tastebuds sighed at the butteriness of the interior. It was like tasting a piece of heaven.

"This is amazing," Fish said, his eyes widening in genuine appreciation.

Jules beamed, her smile lighting up the room. "I’m glad you like it. I’ve been working on that recipe for weeks. It's sugar free since…" She held up her elbow until it was pointing skyward.

Fish frowned as he looked at the circular device. It had ceased its beeping.

"I'm diabetic."

"Oh." It was all he knew to say. He didn't know much about diabetes, except it dealt with sugar. Which was odd, since the pastry was sweet.

The skinny man in the suit stormed into the kitchen, looking flustered. His dark brows drew together as he glared at Fish. "Hey, valet. My car keys?"

"We don't have valet parking here, Dr. Mensah," said Chef Jacqui sweetly—sickly sweetly, like there was a poisonous bite to her words.

"I left my keys with this guy." The doctor pointed an accusatory finger at Fish.

"I left them on the hood of your car, since you misplaced them by dropping them into my hand."

The guy narrowed his eyes. Then there was a hand on his chest. Jules' hand. Fish saw red. He wanted her hand off the man.

"Come on, Amari. We should go and make sure no one takes your car." Jules offered Fish an apologetic smile as she corralled the doctor out the door.

Fish's gaze stayed on her every step until she was out of his sight. His toe tapped, his knees loosened, eager to run after her. But he held his ground. Something told him he wouldn't be doing that for long.

"I think you’ll do just fine here, Fish," said Chef Jacqui, grinning at the closed door. "Welcome to Chow Town."