OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

ninety.

"I told you, it's taken care of. I called the house one day while you were at work. Sarah knows. She agreed to stay here while we're gone. I figured you'd trust her the most, since she spends so much time with G."

The blood in Reagan's body was rushing to her head in droves, pounding so hard throughout her veins that she could feel the thrum of it under her skin. No matter how many times she mentally repeated his words, it still wasn't clicking.

Hawaii. They were going to Hawaii.

"You waited until now to tell me this?" she demanded.

"It was a surprise. I think we both need it. I know I do."

"Dave, Christmas is six days away. Gracie —,"

"Sarah's got it, Reags, I promise that I made sure it's all set."

"Not that. What if something happens? What if . . . what if we missed out on Christmas with her? A delayed flight or something?" Reagan threw her hands up and let them flop back down limply at her sides. "Hawaii, Dave?"

"Are you mad?" he asked softly. He gave her that look, the one that required him to soften up his eyes with apology and tentative hurt. She gritted her teeth.

"I'm not mad . . . just . . . I don't know, shocked."

"Do you not want to go?"

She paused, considering her answer. Did she want to go to Hawaii with him? Of course she did. They'd joked about going back for a belated honeymoon slash anniversary for months now, though time had never worked in their favor. In truth, it was romantic that he'd concocted the surprise vacation right under her nose as a Christmas present.

But it was sudden. Very sudden indeed.

"Christmas is so close," she mumbled, pushing back her hairline with both hands.

"You told me while I was in Salem that you got all your Christmas shopping done," Dave reminded her, swiping the upper hand of the discussion.

"I know, but —,"

He took an abrupt, large step in front of her, one hand cupping the line of her jaw while the other splayed his fingers across her mouth gently. She was silenced, staring up at him with round, dismayed eyes.

"Do you want to go to Hawaii or not?" he asked her simply, his voice low, almost taunting.

Unable to help herself, Reagan thought back to her conversation with Chris, the one that they had shared in her car before she'd left for New York City. Chris had gone on and on about how lucky Reagan was, how sharp the curve her life had bounded around was. Gone was the girl who'd worked forty plus hours a week, nursing her siblings in place of their parents and only dreaming of the potential that her life could have.

Now, she wanted for nothing. Things were dispensable at her feet. She and Dave weren't bathing themselves in wealth, but it was a different kind of wealth for Reagan, the kind that had them living pleasantly in their house with nice things and an even nicer child whom they both loved more than their own lives. It had nothing to do with the amount of money in their pockets. She didn't care about that.

Reagan realized that her good fortune had nothing to do with plain luck. It had been meant to happen this way, and the only reason that she might have even pocketed herself a sliver of so-called luck was because of the man in front of her. Every gift that he'd given, Gracie included, had been because he loved her. He would fly her to Hawaii on a whim not to prove that he could, but because he loved her.

They loved each other. So much.

"Yes," she whispered against his lingering fingertips. "Yes, I want to go."