Dodgy Tiramisu

Right, picture this: it’s a scorcher of a Sunday in the city, I’m beetroot-faced, sweating through my linen like I’ve just run the London Marathon (I haven't), frantically trying to park a Lime bike that apparently no street in central London is worthy of. All this while trying to look effortlessly breezy (see what I did there?) for my first date using this new app called Breeze.

Now, if you haven’t heard of Breeze, here’s the gist: you match, pick a date, and — plot twist — you don’t chat beforehand. At all. Nothing. Not even a “hey” or a badly timed GIF. Just vibes. Or, potentially, no vibes. It’s refreshing really, skipping the 47-message-long back-and-forth that usually ends in someone ghosting you for their ex or a sandwich. But the flipside? If it all goes pear-shaped, it does so right to your face.

Anyway, I finally arrive at this cocktail bar, flustered and panting like a jogger who regrets everything, expecting to meet some awkwardly average bloke. But then — bam — I do a double take. This guy is good looking. Like, far better looking than his pictures, and honestly that never happens. Usually it's the reverse — photo filters, dodgy angles, a picture from 2015... you know the drill. But no, this one? Fit, blonde-ish, blue-eyed, softly spoken and — curveball — from Birmingham. But the Brummie accent was just a gentle whisper, nothing too Peaky Blinders.

We did the classic polite chit-chat over non-alcoholic drinks (neither of us were drinking — I know, wild), and credit where it’s due, he paid. Nice. The bar was cute, but with the sun blazing like we were in the Costa del Shoreditch, we decided to take our awkward small talk outside. I knew a rooftop bar nearby — and let me tell you, it never fails to impress. Views, shade, and a bit of a breeze (okay, that’s the last pun, I swear).

Now, sitting next to us was a girl who looked uncannily like Bonnie Blue. And yes, he was looking at her. A lot. But I clocked it first, so fair play. He pointed her out like it was an innocent observation, but I had already made a mental note: she's competition, and I’m here with a sweaty fringe.

Then came the dessert. A bartender recommended the tiramisu from a nearby bagel shop — random, but we were in that early-date "yes to everything" phase. We grabbed two and took them to a nearby park like a pair of teenage sweethearts. Big mistake. They were not right. As in, there was something distinctly vintage about the cream. Within ten minutes, both of us had that slightly panic-stricken, do not trust a fart look in our eyes.

Despite the looming tummy trouble, the date was actually… nice? Easy. Pleasant. Not exactly electric, but he ticked a lot of boxes. I walked him to the station, gave him a hug goodbye (our stomachs already mildly plotting revenge), and floated home thinking, “Could be something here.”

Then came the twist.

The Breeze app asks post-date if you’d like to exchange numbers. I hit yes. Not desperate yes, but hopeful yes. An hour later, I get the dreaded ping: “He declined to exchange numbers.” And just like that — poof. Gone. No explanation. No warning signs. Just three hours of chatting, sweating, snacking, and strolling… evaporated.

Honestly? I was gutted. Properly winded. Not because I was planning our future together in a cottage in the Cotswolds or naming our labrador, but because it had felt fine. And sometimes, after enough “meh” dates and even worse chat apps, “fine” feels like a win.

The rejection stung. Especially after putting myself out there for the first time in ages. It felt like a cruel little twist of fate — a tiramisu-fuelled rom-com that ends in a plot hole.

So what did I learn? Well, maybe nothing. Maybe that dating, even on the apps that promise to “change the game,” is still just a bit of a gamble. Sometimes it’s magic. Sometimes it’s mild food poisoning and disappointment.

But hey, at least I got a story out of it. And a mild intolerance to tiramisu.

Until next time — if there is a next time — I’ll be back on my Lime bike, trying to look breezy while fighting for my life against another parking zone.