Page 104 of The Secret Heir Next Door
He shrugs again. “I wanted to. Plus, I’ve got a reputation to maintain, you know? Can’t have my fiancé lifting heavy boxes all by herself.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “I’m not exactly your fiancé, Logan.”
“Not yet,” he says with a wink, and I feel my cheeks heat up. He hands me the bag of pastries, and the smell of cinnamon and butter makes my stomach growl louder. I suddenly realize how little I’ve eaten since yesterday. “Breakfast is on me. Figured you could use the fuel.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling strangely shy as I take the bag. Logan’s looking at me with that same mix of confidence and softness that always makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world when he’s around. It’s overwhelming, in the best way.
I finish unlocking the door, and we step inside the shop together. Everything’s a mess—boxes are piled up everywhere. Unpacked displays are scattered around like someone’s half-hearted attempt at decorating a disaster zone.
My shoulders sag at the sight, and all the anxiety I’ve been holding back rushes back in. There’s so much to do, and I don’t even know where to begin.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ve got all day to get this sorted.” He sets down his coffee and starts looking around like he’s assessing a project, ready to dive in.
I take a deep breath and force myself to push past the embarrassment. “It’s just… There's so much stuff. I’ve been putting off unpacking because I didn’t know if I was staying, andnow I feel like I don’t even know where anything goes anymore. And honestly, my inventory system is a mess. I’ve been doing everything manually, and I can’t keep up. I don’t know why I didn’t fix it sooner.”
Logan turns to me, his expression serious but understanding. “Do you need help with the inventory? I’m pretty good with numbers, you know.” He grins, but I can see the genuine offer behind it.
I let out a small, defeated laugh. “I could really use some help. I’ve got too much inventory and no real way to track what’s selling and what’s not. I’ve been meaning to set up a proper system, but it’s all so overwhelming. I’m really embarrassed to admit that.”
His eyes light up, and he looks like a kid at Christmas. “Oh my God, Serena, are you asking me if I can help you build an inventory system? Because that’s, like, my dream. I would love to set something up for you. I can build you something completely customized. We could track sales, inventory levels, customer preferences—whatever you want!”
I blink, a little taken aback by his enthusiasm. I’ve never seen him this excited about anything that didn’t involve his job or some high-stakes negotiation. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Are you kidding?” Logan’s practically bouncing on his feet now, his eyes sparkling excitedly. “This is exactly the kind of thing I love doing. I could set you up with software that’ll streamline everything. And if you want, I can even integrate it with your website for online orders and track your top-selling items in real-time.”
I laugh, shaking my head at how genuinely thrilled he looks. “Logan, it’s just a small shop, not a Fortune 500 company.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he says, undeterred. “A good system is a good system. And you deserve to have one that works for you. Trust me, I can make this happen.”
His excitement is contagious, and for the first time since this whole mess started, I feel a flicker of hope. Logan isn’t just offering to help me unpack boxes; he’s offering to make my life easier, to fix something that’s been weighing on me for months. And the best part? He’s doing it because he wants to.
“Okay,” I say, smiling. “Let’s do it. Show me what you’ve got, Mr. CEO.”
Logan gives me a mock salute, then grabs the first box and starts tearing into it with the enthusiasm of someone opening a present on Christmas morning. “Alright, first things first—we need to figure out what’s in these boxes. Once we know what we’re working with, we can start setting up an inventory list.”
I watch as he pulls out a stack of cake pops, sniffing one of them appreciatively before setting it on the counter. He’s so focused and determined to help, and it makes my chest warm. I start unpacking beside him, and it feels strangely comforting to have him here, shoulder to shoulder, helping me sort through the chaos.
We work together in a rhythm that feels natural, almost like we’ve done this a thousand times before. Logan moves quickly, setting up a system on his laptop that he brought along—God, of course, he brought a laptop—inputting each item as we unpack it.
I’ve never seen someone so excited about data entry in my life, but Logan’s in his element. He’s showing me how the software tracks each item, how I can add notes, and even set reminders when stock gets low. It’s honestly impressive, and I can’t help but be awed by him.
“How do you know all this stuff?” I ask, watching as he deftly navigates the software like it’s second nature.
Logan shrugs, glancing up at me with a smile. “I’ve been doing this kind of thing since college. My first business was all about streamlining inventory for local stores. You wouldn’tbelieve how much money people lose just because they don’t know what they have.”
“Well, I guess I’m lucky to have you then,” I say, half-teasing, half-serious. “You’re making me feel like I’ve been running this place all wrong.”
He stops typing and looks at me, his expression softening. “Hey, you’re doing great, Serena. You’ve built something amazing here, and you don’t need me or anyone else to tell you that. I’m just here to make things a little easier for you.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. It’s one thing to know someone loves you, but it’s another to have them show up for you like this, to roll up their sleeves and dive into your world without hesitation. I feel a rush of gratitude and something else—a deep, aching affection for this man who’s doing everything he can to make my life better, even in the smallest ways.
I smile, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Thank you, Logan. Really. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
He reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re welcome. And for the record, Serena… I’m really glad you’re staying. The city wouldn’t be the same without your shop.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Me too.”
We keep working, unpacking box after box, with Logan explaining his plans for organizing everything in a way that makes sense. As the hours pass, the shop starts to take shape again, and my anxiety slowly ebbs. I still have a lot to figure out, but with Logan by my side, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I can handle it.
