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‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘And now?’
She took a deep breath. Finally she had that heartbeat under control. ‘I’ve got myself sorted,’ she said, not wanting to give any further explanation.
‘You don’t wear a ring. I assumed you were single.’ He paused. ‘Are you single?’
Gemma was a bit taken aback by the directness of his question. ‘Very single,’ she said. Did that sound too enthusiastic? As if she were making certain he knew she was available?
Gemma curled her hands into fists. She had to stop second guessing everything she said. Tristan had thought she was wonderful in her apron, all flushed from the heat of the oven and without a scrap of make-up. She had to be herself. Not try and please a man by somehow attempting to be what he wanted her to be. She’d learned that from her mother—and it was difficult to unlearn.
Her birth father had died before she was born and her mother, Aileen, had brought Gemma up on her own until she was six. Then her mother had met Dennis.
He had never wanted children but had grudgingly accepted Gemma as part of a package deal when he’d married Aileen. Her mother had trained Gemma to be grateful to her stepfather for having taken her on. To keep him happy by always being a sweet little girl, by forgiving his moody behaviour, his lack of real affection.
Gemma had become not necessarily a people pleaser but a man pleaser. She believed that was why she’d put up with Alistair’s bad behaviour for so long. It was a habit she was determined to break.
She decided to take charge of the conversation. ‘What about you, Tristan? Are you single, too?’
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