On the face of it they were the perfect romantic-comedy couple. Erin was intelligent, somewhat bookish, attractive and wounded by lousy luck in love. She worked in a gallery. Felix, handsome in a nerdy way, was emerging from his boy-o years with his dignity intact. He was a junior partner at a midtown firm (not far from Erin’s gallery as luck would have it) and, of course, he’d been wounded by lousy luck in love. The gang had spent years engineering their proximity.

The time came almost by accident. You know the scene. ‘My dinnner-date had to cancel. I’d hate to pass up a booking at Henri’s. Would you care to join me.’

And of course it got off to a rocky start. Felix said the grain-fed beef sounded nice. Erin said cattle should eat grass. They overcame the embarrassment. Small talk between stolen glances.

But in the end it wasn’t enough. She thought he needed to grow up a bit. He thought she ought to lighten up. The pecks on their cheeks at the end of the night were perfunctory.

There would be no scripted last minute realisations.

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