The Look of Love: A Novel by Sarah Jio Read Free Book Online Page A

“And besides, I’d never let you date him. He was a narcissist. You know how I knew?”
    I smile at her. “How?”
    “His grocery shopping lists,” she says assuredly.
    “Shopping lists, huh?”
    “Yep,” she says. “You can spot a narcissist a mile away by the amount of money they spend on paper products.”
    “Paper products?”
    “Yes—you know, paper towels, disposable napkins, boxes of tissues.”
    “Lo, you can’t be serious,” I say with a laugh. “That makes no sense.”
    “Believe me, it’s a
thing
. They’ve documented it in research studies. Seriously, the dude went through a roll of paper towels every single day.” She shakes her head at the memory. “And he’d write out those shopping lists in that gorgeous handwriting of his. Too bad he didn’t have a gorgeous heart to match. They never do.” She looks at the card again. “But, I don’t know, this might be worth checking out. I mean, maybe . . .”
    “Maybe what?”
    Lo shrugs. “Maybe you have some crazy ability.” Her eyes brighten. “Like, what if you could time-travel?”
    I let out a little laugh.
    “Just think. You could take me with you back to 2004, back to that asshole who broke my heart. Except this time, I wouldn’t let him break my heart. I’d break his.”
    Jed Harrison. Yes. The man who is, quite possibly, the reason Lo is the way she is today. She loved him—even wanted to marry him. And it turned out he was already engaged to the beautiful daughter of a Seattle real estate tycoon. In the end, his love was a business decision. And Lo was laid off.
    “Well,” I say, “I admit I’m a bit curious to know what this woman has to say.”
    “Then check it out,” she says. “And if you want, I’ll go with you, just to make sure it’s not some kind of sex slave operation where they kidnap you and ship you off in a crate to some foreign country where you end up as part of some harem of women for a sheik.”
    I grin. “A sheik, huh?”
    She nods. “Hey, ever heard of a sapiosexual?”
    “A sapio-what?”
    “Sapiosexual,” she repeats. “It’s a person who’s attracted to intelligence, to the human mind.” She smiles to herself. “Evan said he’s a sapiosexual. And at first I was a little annoyed. I mean, does it mean he isn’t attracted to me physically? But no, the more I thought about it, the more I realize that it actually was quite a compliment. If I ever write a dating book, I think I’ll include that as a section.”
    “You
will
write a dating book,” I say, printing off the thirty-three new orders.
    Lo grins as she looks up at the clock. “Hey, let’s get our work done and then rendezvous with this mystery card writer of yours. What do you say?”
    “Maybe,” I say, glancing at the pink envelope on the counter. Its presence is hard to shake, and I know, somehow, what I must do.

    The old brick building doesn’t look like much from the street. I stare at the card again to make sure I’ve gotten the address right. Waldron Building, Apartment No. 17. “I don’t know, Lo,” I say hesitantly. “I think we should turn around.”
    “No way,” she says, as a panhandler passes by and mumbles in our direction. Lo shoos him away with a flick of her manicured hand. “Now you’ve got me curious. I want to see what this is all about.”
    I look around Main Street. Pioneer Square has a grittier vibe than Pike Place, but if you’re looking for a taste of old Seattle, it’s here, where old lampposts preside over the streets and visitors line up for tours of the city’s once–fully operational underground city.
    “What if it’s a hoax?”
    Lo rolls her eyes. “Then we’ll get the hell out of here.”
    “All right,” I say tentatively, stepping ahead to the building’s double doors with elaborate brass hardware that looks like an ornate relic from the 1920s. I imagine all of the flappers and prohibitionists who might have walked through the entryway as I push open the heavy door.