Chapter 30 We Don’t Wanna Wake Aunt Amelia
The heavy dove-grey double doors gave way under Pete’s small, determined shove, hinges whispering open with the faintest sigh. A wall of warmer, darker air met him— cedarwood cologne, faint vanilla from Amelia’s night cream, the clean musk of sleep-soaked linen, and the low, steady rhythm of two people breathing in perfect unconscious sync.
Inside, the king-sized bed dominated the room like a raft adrift on cream-coloured sea. Heavy blackout curtains sealed the world out, allowing only hairline threads of pale morning light to sneak along the edges. A single rose-gold bedside lamp burned low, casting soft amber pools across rumpled white sheets.
Andrew lay sprawled on his back in the middle, navy pyjama bottoms riding low on his hips, bare chest rising and falling in long, slow waves. One arm was flung wide, knuckles brushing the edge of the mattress; the other rested loosely across his stomach. Beside him— close enough that their shoulders touched— Amelia curled on her side facing him, ash-blonde hair fanned across the pillow, wearing an oversized pale-lilac sleep shirt that slipped off one shoulder. Her lips were parted just enough to let soft, barely audible snores escape.
Pete didn’t pause. Bare feet slapped across the cool parquet, then he launched— knees first— onto the mattress. The whole bed lurched. Springs groaned. Pillows shifted like startled birds.
He landed square on Andrew’s chest, small hands planting hard against warm skin.
“Wake up, Daddy! Wake up!”
Andrew’s body jerked once. A sharp, involuntary inhale hissed through his nose.
“Huh…?”
Pete pushed harder, palms flat, fingers splayed, rocking his father’s ribcage. “Wakeeee, Daddd!!!”
Andrew’s eyelids fluttered. Lashes dark against skin. One eye cracked, then squeezed shut again against the sudden assault.
“Pete…?” Voice thick, gravel dragged across concrete.
“Yes, Daddy!” Pete bounced once for emphasis, knees digging in. “It’s me!”
Andrew exhaled through his mouth— a long, defeated gust. Both eyes opened now, bleary, unfocused. “What do you want, kid? It’s early.”
“No it’s not! It’s past seven already!” Pete leaned forward until their noses almost touched, determined, cheeks flushed pink with purpose. He pushed again— small fists now drumming lightly against Andrew’s sternum. “Come on!”
Andrew groaned, low in his throat. “Guaaaad damn…” He dragged a hand across his face, fingers raking through sleep-mussed hair. “I’m awake already. Stop pushing me.”
He pushed himself upright in stages— first elbows, then palms flat on the mattress, finally sitting fully, the sheet pooling at his waist. Pete immediately flopped against his chest like a limpet, arms looping around his neck, no concept whatsoever of personal space.
“We woke up early today, huh?” Andrew muttered, scrubbing both hands over his eyes, trying to rub the fog away.
“It’s not early, it’s already past seven,” Pete corrected solemnly, chin resting on Andrew’s collarbone.
“That’s still early, honey.” Andrew’s voice softened. One arm came up automatically, curling around Pete’s narrow back to steady him. The other stretched wide overhead, joints popping as he yawned— mouth open so far his jaw cracked. The yawn ended in a long, rumbling sigh.
“No it’s not,” Pete insisted, voice muffled against his father’s neck.
Andrew’s mouth twitched. He let his head drop forward until his forehead rested lightly against Pete’s wild bed-hair. “Alright. Alright. I give up. You’re right.”
Pete’s entire body lit up. He pulled back just enough to beam directly into his father’s face. “You said we’re going to the museum today!”
“Shhh…” Andrew’s eyes flicked sideways toward Amelia. His voice dropped to a gentle caution. “Can we keep it down? We don’t want to wake Aunt Amelia, do we?”
Pete’s eyes widened. He clapped both hands over his own mouth for a second, then leaned in so close his breath tickled Andrew’s ear. “You said we’re gonna go to the museum today,” he whispered, dramatic and conspiratorial.
Andrew nodded once, slow and serious. “I did.”
“So let’s go start preparing!” Pete’s whisper cracked with excitement, volume creeping up again despite his best effort.
Andrew’s brows lifted. He adjusted his hold on Pete, shifting them both slightly so he could see the boy’s face. “Start preparing now? It’s still quite a bit early, champ. The museum’s open all day.”
Pete’s lower lip pushed out. Eyes enormous, pleading. “No. I want us to go early. Please, Dad. You promised.”
Andrew studied him— the earnest frown, the hopeful shine in his eyes, the way his small fingers twisted the fabric of Andrew’s pyjama shirt. Something in his chest gave a quiet, inevitable surrender.
“Alright. Alright, I hear you.” He shook his head lightly, a rueful half-smile tugging one corner of his mouth. “Let’s go get prepared.”
“Yeeee!” Pete’s celebration erupted before he could stop it. He bounced hard— once, twice— knees driving into the mattress on either side of Andrew’s hips.
“Shhh!!!” Andrew hissed instantly, one hand flying up to cover Pete’s mouth while the other tightened around his waist to keep him from toppling. “You’re loud. What did I say? We don’t wanna wake Aunt Amelia.”