"Now you see, son. It's not what you did that angers me the most. It's who you did it to...
And I can't believe you took his fucking wife!"
•
The day John Wick met her, his life changed. Six years. Four in retirement, in the perfect life, and then i...
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THE SOUND of Bleu's pattering feet and barks alert John that Kaitlyn's finally home from rehearsal. He's sitting in the living room with a book in hand, something Russian. It's past noon with the sun cascading into the house effortlessly, the windows have been freshly cleaned. John's tired as he'd been up early binding a particularly difficult and important book, even missed when his wife left for work. He's ready for lunch but without knowing what Kaitlyn wants he's been stuck sitting on the couch, hungry.
"Hey I'm home!" Kaitlyn's sweet voice calls out reaching his ears. He can hear her's and smaller footsteps coming right his way.
Kaitlyn is smiling and holding a takeout bag as she comes into the living room, with Bleu hot on her heels. She looks cute in jean shorts and a calvin klein tee shirt, a tiny hop in her step as she makes her way over to John.
"How was rehearsal?" John sets his book down and gets up to greet her.
"Long. Spent half the time in measures the cellos don't even play," she chuckles thinking back to earlier and how zoned out she'd been, "but I got us lunch! Not really in the mood to cook, figured you wouldn't mind."
"Not one bit. The usual?" John is at her side quickly and is taking the bags from her hand. He then leans down and presses a kiss to her forehead.
"Of course," she says sassily, making a pouty face at only getting kissed on her head, "who do you think I am?"
John just laughs turning away to go to the kitchen, "stay there! I'll get plates ready."
"Okay," Kaitlyn purses her lips, and goes to the couch like he said to. She plops down exasperated, jokingly annoyed, and focuses her attention on the book. It's leather bound in red and when she opens the tan-tinted pages- she can't read a lick of it. But that doesn't stop her from skimming the pages until John comes back in.
He has their food in his hand and watches her amused as he sits down next to her, "know what it says?"
"Obviously," she says sassily.
"I'm sure," he chuckles endearingly as he pushes the bowl towards her, "I'll trade you."
She obliges, giving him the book, taking the plate into her lap. A soup from their favorite city deli is warm in her hands- and her stomach immediately grumbles at the sight.
