Page 14 of With All My Heart, Joy

Her nod was reluctant, but Isaac was glad she had agreed. It wasn’t the first time she’d pushed hard with her interest. Many of his single female clients flirted with him on sight. Apparently, they thought he was good-looking. He didn’t see it when he looked in the mirror, but it didn’t matter to him anyway. His looks hadn’t gotten him very far in the past.

The nice thing about Joy Halverson was that she didn’t flirt. He couldn’t evenpictureher flirting with him. But then again, why would she? He could be her father if he’d started messing around just a little bit earlier.

Before regret could filter through him, he redirected his thoughts, as his own counselor had taught him years ago. God had forgiven him and blessed him. Now he was living the life he deserved. And it was a good one. Maybe not as good as it could be. But good enough after all the mistakes he’d made.

Chapter Four

“Where are you?” Lucy demanded, her voice shrill over the phone. “Mom’s freaking out.”

Joy checked the time. 6:35. Oops. “Totally forgot it’s Tuesday. Don’t wait for me. I’ll grab leftovers when I get there.”

“Are you still working? You have to take a break sometime, you know.”

Not working. Just wallowing in critical comments below the apartment-walkthrough video she’d posted that morning. The sharks were already biting. The people who claimed influencing was an easy get-rich scheme werelying.It was blood, sweat, and tears. Literally. She’d cut herself unboxing items, she had definitely perspired shooting videos, and tears were a daily thing—off the screen.

“I’ll head over soon.” She hung up before Lucy could say more. Her family would never forgive her if she skipped Family Fun Tuesday. But she wasn’t in the mood for fun.

“Be thankful, be thankful,” she muttered as she put on her boots and a coat. “You matter. You matter.” She still hadn’t figured outwhy, but it must be true.

Mr. Miller’s homework was keeping her afloat to a certain degree, but if she lowered her guard for a few seconds and forgot to be positive, she spiraled downward just as fast, and no amount of gratitude would dig her out of her black tunnel.

Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

She checked her mail at the multi-tenant metal mailbox beside the sidewalk on the way to her car, and her jaw dropped. Zak Miller, mystery recipient of her gift cards, had replied. In the crush of life, she had completely forgotten about her little package.

She stood in the cold, dark evening air, her breath surrounding her with a cloud, and read his reply on the blank side of a Christmas card.

Zak Miller seemed like a decent man. What special needs did his daughter have? As there was no mention of a wife, it appeared that he was a solo parent. That had to be tough. He wrote very well, which indicated a good education. And he was a Christian, if his closing line was genuine.

It wouldn’t be crazy to write back, would it? She should be safe enough, using a fake name. If a lunatic appeared at her doorstep, she could simply say, “No JJ Hall lives here, sorry.” But the idea of writing to someone who didn’t know who she was—who didn’t know about her Internet fame and wouldn’t judge her accordingly—was highly appealing. Even if it was a short-term Christmas card exchange. He probably wouldn’t reply a second time, anyway. But that didn’t have to stop her.

Neither did the fact that she would be even later to her parents’ house. Guilt tumbled through her as she welcomed the delay. Her family meant well. They loved her. But they had to. She was family, whether they’d been ready for her or not.

She changed course, returned to the warmth of her apartment, and picked up a pen.

Dear Zak,

I was happily surprised to find your card in my mailbox today! I am more pleased than I can say that my gift cards will go to good use. Ten is such a fun age. I wish I could be ten again. What special needs does your daughter have? I imagine that must be very challenging as a parent. It sounds like you have a supportive mother, even if she’s not local. I hope you have other support around you.

Fresh Ground is such a fun place. I’m a weirdo—I don’t drink coffee. I would totally hang out with Paisley and drink hot chocolate and talk makeup. (And yes, Taylors has lip gloss, glitter, and nail polish. Click the “fun stuff” tab in the menu.) My favorite drink is orange juice. See? Ten at heart.

Thank you for your kind words. Sending that to you was a bit uncharacteristic of me. I guess something got into me that day, but I’m glad. It gave me a good feeling.

Take care! God bless.

With all my heart,

JJ

Her note was longer than she planned. She read it over. Nothing identifying. Perfectly safe. Weirdly fun.

How old was Zak Miller? And what did he look like?

Dangerous questions to ask. Pushing aside her curiosity, she slapped a stamp on the envelope and copied down his address for the second time, then breezed out the door, a full half-hour late to dinner.

She parked along the street and had barely stepped through the door when her dad’s gentle voice called out, “Is that my Joy?” He appeared in the entryway smelling like the hospital, which meant he smelled like him. The smell he’d carried for as long as Joy had known him.

“It’s me.”

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