“You’re kind of a monster,” he said. Then quieter: “Thank you. I still sometimes can’t believe it.” Ezra fought the inexplicable urge to move toward her, to touch her, to hold her close. He didn’t have to fight it for longer than a moment though because then Frankie was leaning into him too, her arms around his neck, her cheek pressed against his chest. He squeezed her like the hug was a lifeline. She lingered in the embrace, then pulled back.

“Shit, sorry,” she said. “I don’t know where that came from.”

Ezra said nothing, not because he had nothing to say but because he had too much to say. Then, before he could think any of it through, and with her still so close, too close, just inches away, she tipped her head up toward his, raised herself up on her toes, and kissed him.

Frankie Harriman kissed him.

And his brain really did go blank then, as he found himself kissing her back, unsure at first, then desperate, hungry. And he didn’t want it to stop because it felt just like it used to and that was comforting, delicious, soul affirming, and then it felt nothing like it used to—because Frankie was a stranger now, and that’s when he came to his senses. He opened his eyes and pressed her back gently and said, “No, I mean, I can’t.” He paused. Tried to breathe. “Shit, this is such a mess.”

And Frankie looked as confused as he felt, like she didn’t know what had come over her. But it passed quickly, and honestly, Ezra wasn’t even sure if he were seeing something he wanted to, something that wasn’t even there. Because then she comported herself and said, “Sure, sorry. It was just . . . I don’t know. An experiment.” Which of course it was to Frankie, Ezra thought. Always cavalier with his heart.

He started forward again, and she followed. They walked side by side in silence, the crunch of the snow and a car alarm off in the distance their only company. He should say something, he knew. He should tell her that she couldn’t just kiss him, she couldn’t just do something reckless like that. An experiment! He should say that he loved Mimi and he was faithful and loyal and maybe she couldn’t understand that, but she needed to respect it all the same. But Ezra found that he didn’t have it in him right now. He also found that he hadn’t minded the kiss, which was just as troubling as all the rest of it.

He pressed on, back toward Burton, his eyes on his Sambas, her eyes on her Docs. Then he glanced up and stopped cold. Frankie kept going, lost in her own thoughts, then realized he wasn’t beside her and stopped as well.

“Holy shit,” Ezra said, his heart flying, his pulse skyrocketing. Because there was Gregory, and indeed, his nose was swollen and pink. But there beside him was—again, Ezra had to ensure that he wasn’t hallucinating—but no, there was Mimi.