Love, Me by Tiffany White Page B

suspiciously into the mixture Dakota ladled into the bowl in front of him.
    â€œGazpacho.”
    â€œBless you.” Tucker dipped his spoon into it, sipped and made a terrible face. “Tastes like cold tomato soup to me. Think I’ll order a pizza instead. Anyone else want some?”
    â€œTucker, you’re such a provincial.”
    â€œI don’t think that was a compliment, do you, Dakota?” Tucker reached for the phone. “I’m ordering the works, any takers?”
    Chelsea and Dakota shook their heads no.
    But when the pizza came, Chelsea and Dakota hijacked it, and sat across the room eating it and laughing at Tucker’s threats, which got more inventive as the pizza disappeared.
    When there were only three pieces left, they took pity on Tucker and handed over the remaining pizza.
    â€œJust for that I’m not going to let you guys sing at my concert,” Tucker said around a bite of pizza.
    â€œWhat concert? I thought the tour ended in St. Louis,” Chelsea said.
    â€œIt did. I’ve decided to get together a special concert to aid the flood victims. I was lucky. All I lost was a tour bus. Thousands of people lost everything they owned in the flood. I think I owe a debt of gratitude for my life being spared.”
    â€œWhat a great idea, Tucker!” Chelsea exclaimed. “I don’t know about Dakota, but I’m singing. Maybe if the car idea works, I can sing the new song Dakota’s going to write for me.”
    â€œCount me in, too,” Dakota said, as Chelsea reached for the antiseptic. She lifted his bare foot onto her lap and began applying the ointment to the thorn wound.
    â€œOuch! That burns like hell,” he complained, jerking his foot away.
    â€œDon’t be such a baby. Now it will heal properly. It wouldn’t do a thing for my image, you know, to have two men on crutches flanking me onstage.”
    â€œWe need to set a date for the concert, and it should be soon. Everyone’s needs are immediate. Think we can pull it together in two weeks?” Tucker asked, looking at the two of them.
    â€œWe?” Chelsea and Dakota chorused.
    â€œDon’t get all excited. I’m going to be the boss, but I’ll need a couple of people to help get it together in time.”
    â€œOkay, I’ll volunteer to take care of publicity,” Chelsea offered.
    â€œYou always do,” Tucker mumbled.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œI said you’re good at getting publicity—just make sure this publicity is good.”
    â€œAnd I’ll help line up the country singers,” Dakota volunteered.
    â€œOkay, good. Then all I need to do is line up the rest of the talent. It’ll give me something to do to keep me from going nuts while I’m immobilized.”
    â€œWe need to make a list of possibilities,” Chelsea suggested.
    â€œI’ll get pens and paper.” Dakota pulled out the desk drawers until he’d located two pens and some paper.
    He handed a pen and a couple of sheets of paper to Chelsea, but kept the rest for himself. “I’m going outside and try out the car,” he announced.
    I T DIDN’T WORK .
    It didn’t matter how long Dakota sat in the back seat, he was still blocked.
    It didn’t even help when Chelsea joined him.
    Nothing worked.
    Chelsea wasn’t surprised. She suspected that the real reason for Dakota’s writer’s block had to do with the way he kept his emotions under lock and key.
    Dakota had left his past behind, but he couldn’t seem to escape its effect.
    Chelsea admired him for giving up his family, money and connections for what he loved to do. He’d willingly given up what she’d never had and longed for.
    It was clear to her that Dakota needed to let go emotionally to be able to write.
    And it was all up to her.
    Which was just how she liked it. She believed in herself, and trusted no one. Her family background had left its