All he had to do was show one ounce of courtesy. But no. He wanted to start a war. With a total stranger who was perfectly polite to him until he played dirty. A total stranger who’s been through hell this past year and a half, who is tired of ducking from the constant stream of curveballs life chucks at her.

As of today, I’m done ducking. I’m fighting back.

He wants a war? It is motherfucking on.

Chapter 2

War isn’t always blood and guts, explosions and air strikes. Sometimes it’s unspoken strategy, a sneak attack your enemy doesn’t even notice. Sometimes it’s quiet as a mouse, and by the time the other side even realizes they’ve been infiltrated, it’s too late. The damage is done.

The makeshift cardboard sign I’ve propped against the far end of Hungry Chaps’ food truck is exactly that: quiet, unsuspecting carnage. Day two of Tiva’s Filipina Kusina versus Hungry Chaps, and my side’s victorious already.

Mom and I enjoyed a steady lunch rush from 10 a.m. to almost 1 p.m., while Callum and his food truck only had a couple dozen in that same chunk of time—and it’s all my doing.

I stick my head out of the window to call out another order. When I hand the customer their food, I sneak a seconds-long peek at my enemy food truck just feet away. The sign I threw together this morning is holding up well.

“Mediocre Imperialist Cuisine!”

The giant black letters practically shout from the ragged chunk of cardboard. They’re probably visible from across the nearby lava field.

Mrs. Tokushige, Mom’s best friend and our most loyal customer, mutters a thank-you when she comes to pick up her order of chicken adobo wings, all the while squinting at the sign.

“So strange they would think that sign would be good for business.” She tucks a loose chunk of her thick jet-black hair behind her ear.

I bite my lip to keep from chuckling. I shrug and tell her, “Bon appétit,” when I hand her the food. “Thank you again for letting us use your commercial kitchen, Mrs. Tokushige. You’ve helped us so much.”

She flashes a kind smile before dipping her finger in the soy sauce–vinegar mixture of the adobo and tasting it. She lets out a satisfied hum. “Of course, hon. Anything for you and your mom.”