Trace of Innocence | Sweet and Sour (Book 4)

Chapter 77

"Christ, woman, what have you got in here?" I grumble as I heave a large cardboard box into my arms. It's Saturday morning and we're on our third trip to my house with Jess's stuff. 

"That's all my accountancy stuff!" Jess shrieks, as though I am holding the crown jewels. 

"Is it fragile?" I wonder, trying to peer between flaps at the contents of the box. "Breakable? Valuable?"

"Valuable to me," she says sternly, and I grin over the top of the box at her, causing her to smile grudgingly back at me. "I'll take it if it's too heavy for you. I carried it to my car from my flat."

"No," I scoff. "I can manage." I heave it into the hallway and allow it to slide down my legs onto the floor, my back stretching painfully. Seriously, how the fuck did she pick this up herself? That's some strength.

She appears next to me and sets a holdall at my feet, followed by a suitcase of clothes. "That's the last of it," she says. "For now, anyway."

"Does this mean you've officially moved in?" 

"I guess so," she smiles coyly.

"In that case..." I skip into the kitchen and pull a bottle of Dom Perignon out of the fridge. She squeals delightedly behind me as I pop the cork and pour us both a glass. "Happy moving-in day, Jessie Braddy. Welcome home."

"Why thank you Mr Styles," she grins. "I can't quite believe this is happening to be honest."

We clink our glasses and take a ten minute breather to enjoy the champagne before Jess starts unpacking. There isn't an awful lot I can do to help while she's arranging her clothes in the space I created in the walk in wardrobe, or lining up her toiletries in the bathroom cupboard. 

"Let me know any pictures you want putting up," I tell her, poking my head around the bedroom door as she's zipping the now empty suitcase closed ready for the next trip. 

"Thanks, but there are only a couple and they're still at the flat," she replies. "I don't want to start taking over the place with all my stuff -"

"Jess, I want you to feel at home," I tell her. "And that includes putting your stamp on the place. Bring any pictures over and we can work out together where to put them. I mean it," I emphasise when she gives me an uncertain look. "You're not a lodger. I want you to share our home." 

She allows me to change the bed to one of her duvet cover sets, add a couple of photo frames to the bookshelf and position some of her scented candles in the lounge. We spend the evening with a takeaway, a film and the remnants of the Dom Perignon, and crack on with the moving in the following morning. By the end of Sunday we've brought all of her clothes, toiletries, work stuff and even the contents of her fridge to my house. 

Jess is up early for work on Monday morning, and while she is in the shower I head downstairs to make her some toast and a cup of tea. When she enters the kitchen, wearing a pair of tight trousers, a slim knitted jumper and her hair down around her shoulders, I can't help but drink in the sight of her, and want to pinch myself. She's fucking gorgeous, and it's in the most natural, fresh-faced, girl-next-door kind of way. She has no idea how beautiful she is.

"What are your plans for today?" she asks as she takes an apple and a banana from the fruit bowl and tucks them neatly into her bag.

"I'm in the mood to write," I reply. "I think I might spend the morning in the studio and play around with some lyrics.

"Sounds great," she beams.

"What time do you think you'll be home?"

She gives an awkward shrug. "Depends on what the traffic is like. Maybe around six?"