“No answer,” he said, plopping back in the chair, then swiping the keys and tucking them back into his coat pocket.

“Try her cell?”

“She doesn’t answer unknown numbers. She gets personally involved with work sometimes—gives people her cell. It usually backfires, so she’s learned. Or she’s trying to learn, anyway.”

“Isn’t being personally involved at work a good thing?” Frankie was always personally involved; she didn’t know any other way with her artists.

Ezra shook his head. “No. Not with this. Have you heard of Datify?”

Frankie made a face. No. Also: What?

“Online dating,” Ezra said, then Frankie started laughing. “Stop! It’s a thing. Or it will be. Anyway, she also does off-line setups from her events. She gets paid when they match.” Ezra shrugged, and Frankie bit her lip. “Look,” he said, “she thinks it’s promising, and since I believe in her, I think it’s promising too.”

“Sure,” Frankie said and considered needling him, but honestly, the whole thing was so embarrassing it wasn’t even worth it. She suspected Ezra already agreed. “Okay then, maybe she’s out for a jog.”

They both turned toward the window where the snow had blanketed the street.

“Don’t be an asshole, Frankie,” Ezra said. “I mean, if you can help it.”

“I can’t.”

“That’s the problem.” He stood, as if to go. “Forget it. I thought we could make this work, and literally two minutes ago we agreed to a truce, but fine. I’ll do this on my own.”

“Godspeed,” Frankie offered.

Ezra steeled his jaw, brushed his hair off his forehead, which Frankie was disturbed to find as sexy as it had always been. “There are a lot of surprising things about this morning, but your . . . your . . .” Ezra continued, waving his hands around searching for the right word. “Your pain-in-the-assness is absolutely not one. God, can you just not be an asshole?”

“Oh shut up,” Frankie retorted. She didn’t really care if she offended him. Truthfully, she probably wanted to. But even she could see that he wasn’t wrong: in order to sort out their evening, they had to rely on each other. So she tried again. “Fine. It was a joke. I mean, obviously. No one is jogging in this weather.”

“Make your jokes funny then. Also, Mimi doesn’t run. She does the StairMaster—low impact. We go together five times a week.”

“You hate the gym,” Frankie said.

“You don’t know me anymore,” Ezra replied, though Frankie thought his voice was wavering, like she knew him better than he thought.

“Okay, fine, you love the gym now. Good for you, good for her. Yay, Mimi.” Frankie waited. He remained standing. “That wasn’t the problem back then, me being an asshole.” Still, Ezra scowled. Frankie sighed. “Sit down. Don’t be an idiot.”

Ezra pulled back a chair and sat, though he jutted his chin as if he weren’t relenting.

“Maybe we should start with the keys,” she said, ignoring his theatrics. “To the dorm? To an apartment? To a car?”