Alexis Thompson's Parisian dream is shattered...

I don't know what it is about me and third dates but recently they have become my stumbling block in a blossoming relationship. I meet a guy, things seem to be going well, we go out on a first date, have a successful second date, and then we get to the third and it all goes pear shaped.

This is exactly what happened with French Guy last night. French Guy is jetting off to Paris on Thursday to wrap up the purchase of a new apartment, so he was keen to meet with me before he went.

I suggested dinner and drinks somewhere local to me, as I didn't fancy trekking into central London on a week night, not with my foot the way it is at the moment anyway. (After trying to cram it into a pair of gorgeous but totally impractical shoes, it has now swelled up to the size of a balloon and I can hardly walk.) Anyway, I explained all of this to French Guy, without going into too much detail, and I suggested having dinner in a lovely little Italian at the bottom of my road, which he said sounded perfect. The evening was going so well, we laughed a lot, chatted a lot, and there was a definite chemistry beginning to form between us.

But then the bill came at the end of the evening and it all went horribly wrong. I looked to French Guy, who looked back at me, who then said in quite an abrasive tone: "Ok, it's come to £50 so you put in £25, right?"

The directness of this remark cut through me like a knife and I felt awash with anger. I was going to suggest splitting the bill, seeing as it was the third date and he had paid for everything else up until then, but I wasn't expecting to be told to do it.

"No problem," I said with forced cheerfulness and then emptied my purse of the little cash I had left.

French Guy, who seemed oblivious to my reaction, suggested going to the pub next door for one more drink. Half-heartedly I said yes, I was still fuming over being told to pay my share of the bill, but he did have lovely eyes and a lovely accent and I guess I could forgive him for one slip-up on a third date.

Once inside the pub my anger started to subside a little and I was feeling a tad more relaxed about the whole thing. He'd only suggested I pay for my share of the bill, right? I mean, it was kind of fair.

But then French Guy ruined things for the second time that evening. In the middle of a topical discussion about French politics, he suddenly grabbed my hand and pressed his lips against mine for a long and lingering kiss.

I pulled back feeling quite flustered, the pub was very busy, and about a dozen people were subjected to this gooey display of public affection with a guy whom I couldn't even call my boyfriend yet.

Then, to my horror, he tried doing it again. This time, I turned my head around quickly so his puckered lips ended up smacking my cheek instead.

"Not here," I whispered and quickly dropped his hand.

His serious brown eyes clouded with hurt and confusion. "What do you mean?", he demanded. "You don't want to kiss me?"

"I want to kiss you but not in public," I reassured him.

He shook his head vigorously and then suddenly burst out in an indignant manner: "You're strange."

I raised an eyebrow.. I was strange? I could see him getting more and more irate, so I tentatively asked why.

"I don't know, it's like you put up boundaries, you're a cold person", he continued. Ah, he must have been referring to those boundaries my relationship coach kept talking about. So had this fortress I'd built around myself turned me into a frosty ice queen unwilling to let anyone new into my world? Or had I put those boundaries up since the debacle with the bill? It was becoming apparent that French Guy wasn't all he appeared to be and I was feeling slightly on edge.

So French Guy and I, this cold, frosty person with boundaries, walked home together in silence. As the rain poured down on this miserable scene, French Guy did offer to hold my umbrella over my head, as I struggled with my sore foot, limping through puddles of water.

When we got to my door I turned around to wish French Guy good night. His eyes were fixed with a stony glare that pierced right through me. There was nothing left to say, so I just gave him a peck on the cheek and then he turned around and walked off into night, probably never to be seen again.

Once inside my flat, I texted him to say sorry for such a rubbish evening. I'm not really sure why I was apologising but I did and of course I never got a reply. Then I looked at myself in the mirror, my make-up running down my face and my wet hair plastered to my head. I looked tired, tired of this whole dating game perhaps? But, in the midst of all the disappointment and deflation, I had a sense of hope, that one day I will be able to make it past a third date with someone. And one day I'll never have to go on another date ever again.

Did Alexis ever hear back from French Guy? Find out in next week’s Single in the Suburbs...