Page 5 of With All My Heart, Joy

His loud groan surprised her. “I have a daughter. I’m all too familiar with that particular form of therapy.”

Joy’s eyes skimmed over Mr. Miller’s left hand. As she expected, his ring finger was bare. Was he a single dad? Quite surprising, considering his good looks. His personality didn’t leave much wanting, either. “How old is she?”

“Ten. Way too young to be constantly begging me for a mall trip.”

Joy put a hand on her hip. “I think I’d get along fabulously with your daughter. I was ten when I got interested in fashion and makeup. The rest is history.”

Mr. Miller’s reply stalled as he looked at her, his eyes roving slowly over her face, lingering on her sparkly burgundy scarf and trendy jean jacket. Joy’s breath caught. What did Isaac Miller see when he looked at her?

As quickly as the thought came, she brushed it aside. She didn’t care what this man thought of her, only what he could do for her.

“I hope my daughter has a chance at a future like yours,” he finally said, his voice tight in a way that spoke of carefully controlled emotion. What could he possibly mean by that? A forced smile tipped his lips upward. “Anyway, go on. Anything besides retail therapy?”

Joy considered this. “Does an effervescent love of all things Christmas count? I put up my tree yesterday, and that made me supremely happy.”

His face was incredulous. “It’s the second week of November!”

“So?”

“You’re as bad as my mother!”

Joy put her chin in the air. “She must be a wonderful woman.”

The boisterous laughter that poured out of him like a waterfall was unexpected and so utterly delightful, Joy laughed with him.

“You are too much, Joy.” He wiped his eyes at last, excess mirth making them glisten. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’d love to keep talking, but my next client is due in ten minutes. I’m going to give you some homework. You got something to write on?”

Joy pulled out her trusty iPhone. “I take notes with this.”

“To each her own. Number one, I want you to give yourself grace. I realize in your line of work, that’s asking a lot. But you have to remember you are human, and all humans mess up, and all humans need a break. It’s okay to be human. Got it?”

Easy words to say. Harder to believe. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask of you. Next, I want you to eat well. What’s your diet like?”

Joy reached to play with the hair that came to a blunt cut just above her shoulder. “I’m a good cook, but in the three days since moving into my own place, I’ve found I’m not so good at cooking for myself.”

“At least you have the capability,” he said dryly. “You don’t want to know the weird things I come up with.” Joy ducked her head to keep from laughing at his look of despair. “I want you eating three square meals a day, even if it’s simple. A sandwich and an apple count. Junk food doesn’t.”

“So you’re saying I should toss the half-eaten can of Pringles sitting beside my bed?”

“Sad, isn’t it? I do love Pringles.”

Joy tapped notes onto the blank digital Post-It® note on her phone screen. “No... Pringles…” she said in time to the letters appearing on screen. Mr. Miller threw his head back with another incredible laugh. It bounced off the walls, filling the room with warmth.

“I can see why you’re making it as an influencer. You have a fantastic sense of humor.”

She abandoned her notes, touched by his compliment. “Thank you. Some days I feel like I’m faking it.” Make thatmostdays. But here, in this office, her natural joy was coming back to her already. She hadn’t felt this light in…years.

“Fake it till you make it, right? That saying has a bad rap, but there’s a survival element in it to cling to. The alternatives to faking it are owning your depression—or giving in to it. I’d much rather my clients fake it until they can own it rather than give up. Keep faking it, Joy. We’ll get you back to making it sooner than you think.”

His confidence was contagious, and Joy found herself offering him a smile she hadn’t felt in a long time. A real smile.

“Okay. What’s next?”

“Number three, write down five things each day you are thankful for. It’s easier to see the good things in your life if you’re looking for them. I’ll want to see evidence of this next time, so put it somewhere consistent, such as in a journal.”

Joy waved her phone in an earth-to-Mr.-Miller gesture. “Or this.”

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