Quinn looked pensive, his features halting as though stealing themselves to take a plunge from a high board. Then he leant back in his chair, pulling away from the brink, the opportunity to jump missed.

‘Then you’d know things about me, Minnie Cooper, and I know next to nothing about you. You need to trade some emotional currency first.’

‘OK,’ Minnie tilted her head to one side and took a slow sip of her drink. She felt the warming whisky loosen her tongue. ‘My best friend’s boyfriend just told me he’s going to propose. He also told me the stress of work is killing Leila, and he wants me to fold the business. He wants her to be free to thrive and he doesn’t think she’ll thrive while she’s having sleepless nights over No Hard Fillings.’

Quinn was watching her intently as she spoke. She plunged on, ‘I might have been cross that he was interfering, or sad that he might be right. Mainly, I just felt happy that my friend has someone who thinks about her that way.’ Minnie paused. ‘I guess I was cross and sad but also happy and a bit jealous. I think I decided if I can’t have a relationship like that, then maybe I’d rather be on my own.’ Minnie paused and then added, ‘Greg didn’t like me to call him unannounced. He liked me to text first, can you believe that? When you love someone, you want to be able to call them without having to make an appointment.’

Quinn looked incredibly sad for a moment; she saw it flash across his face. His eyes, usually flickering on the brink of amusement, took on this rheumy, lifeless quality, a distillation of misery. Minnie had said too much. She shuffled back in her chair, putting the glass in her hand down on the side table with a bang. ‘Come on then, I got all serious on you. Spill your guts, Hamilton; what’s your emotional constipation about? Not a misguided romantic like me?’

He brushed a shaking hand through his hair and then the look was gone. A shrill, buzzing noise pierced the air and Quinn and Minnie both jumped in surprise.

‘It’s the intercom,’ said Quinn.

‘Expecting someone?’ asked Minnie.

Quinn looked confused, then his eyes bulged and he slapped a hand to his mouth.

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I arranged a Tinder date.’

Minnie laughed awkwardly. She felt her cheeks prickle.

‘I’ll cancel, I’ll tell her to go.’

‘No, no you can’t do that. Poor girl!’ said Minnie, standing up and brushing down her creased jeans. ‘I’ll leave.’

‘This is awkward.’ Quinn grimaced.

‘It’s fine, it’s none of my business how you spend your afternoons – whisky and Tinder is an excellent combination.’