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Like a real smile that I can see he feels down to his toes, and this time it stays longer, so I can enjoy it longer.

“Oh, yeah. We had a blast after lunch. They showed me the one toy they were really excited to play with when we got back from daycare, and I told them how I’d ask them on Monday for another one. Then we went outside with Johnny, just to the sidewalk to go over a few rules in case we’re ever out and about and I need to cross a street with them or anything.”

Fuck, that’s so smart.

“I think they’re supposed to learn stuff like that at daycare, but I’m really glad you’re teaching them too,” I admit.

“Oh.” He sits up, and the way his whole body is so suddenly full of life and excitement is breathtaking. “I wanted to discuss some of what I have planned to go over with them, if that’s okay.”

“Yes—” I cut myself off to clear my throat. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

“Okay.” He nods once, and sits forward until half his butt is over the edge of the couch. “So, basically . . .”

As I hear him go into every detail of the lessons and activities he’s already planned out to teach the boys, or go over with them, I realize that I don’t think I’ll be able to feel pure disappointment when he eventually gets his dream job and I have to find someone else to take care of my brothers.

Because this is so obviously his passion, his calling even.

Sure, even after only a few hours, I know the chances of finding someone else as perfect as Sunny will be close to impossible, and I’m positive I’m not the only one who’s going to miss him when he becomes a teacher, but he’s meant to be a teacher, and he so obviously deserves to get to do what he loves.

He winds down slowly, each word coming out with less enthusiasm until he’s only shifting on his seat and seems unsure. Fuck, he should never be or feel unsure.

It’s not for him.

But I realize when he does continue that he was hesitant to bring up something he thinks might make me uncomfortable.

“I also want to maybe have a few more practical lessons with the boys,” he says, so obviously uncomfortable, which is so much worse than being unsure.

“Practical lessons?” I make my tone deliberately careless, maybe more on the happy side than normal, but I think that’s just a side-effect of being near Sunny at this point.

“Like washing the dishes, even loading the dishwasher, washing their hands too. I think—” He stops himself once, then again. “I believe—with kids this age⁠—”

It becomes painful enough by the third time he stops and starts to speak, that I bravely sit up and look him squarely in the eyes. I think it shows just how determined I am to be a good host—boss, whatever—that I force myself not to get lost in those dark eyes again.

“Sunny, please say what you want to say. You know more about any of this than I do, and I’m not going to bite your head off, or fuck, fire you, for anything you think the boys should learn.” I lean back again, though less lying down is involved this time, and try to make my nod encouraging. “Lay it on me,” I urge him.

“Okay.” He breathes out harshly.

“I think the boys should learn how things around the house get done. If that means Felicia teaches them to do basic laundry, so they’re more aware, then we’ll spend an hour or so doing that, then maybe making a salad dressing with Angelo the next day, stuff like that.”

I hum thoughtfully, but I’ve been nodding since the first sentence.

“I think it would be cool if the boys know how to do some of that stuff.” I offer him a rueful smile. “Maybe I should take some of those lessons with them, actually.”

A completely unexpected—if the way his eyes widen is anything to go by—snort bursts out of him.

“I really don’t know how to do much of anything,” I tell him, gladly making fun of myself if it means he’ll keep laughing. “It honestly makes me feel like a bit of a loser when I think about it for too long.”

Even while he keeps snickering, he sends me an incredulous look, then very pointedly looks around the room. At the eighty-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and the plush couches, the general opulence of my home.

“You’re the best loser ever, then,” he says when his eyes come back to me, and that sends me into a giggling fit.

I sigh, long and loud, when the last laugh leaves me.

“This loser had all three of his older sisters check up on him today.” I roll my eyes.

“Why?” he asks, and he looks so . . . open.

Curious.