I came home early and caught my plus-size nanny sitting in the mud while my three sons dragged her across the lawn with a rope—something that should have made me furious. But then I heard a sound I hadn’t heard since their mother died: my boys were laughing, and within minutes, I was the one standing in the grass holding the other end of that rope.

The battle on the lawn lasted twenty minutes.

I let them drag me across thirty feet of ruined turf. I fell on my knees twice, intentionally letting out loud, theatrical groans of defeat that made Liam laugh so hard he lost his grip on the rope and rolled into a pile of wet leaves. I dragged them forward, then let them pull me back. I let my tailored pants get thoroughly ruined, my shirt stained with black mud, and my hair plastered to my forehead by the mist.

When it was over, all four of us were lying flat on our backs in the middle of the grass, breathing heavily, looking up at the gray autumn sky.

Leo was lying across my chest, his small hand clutching my collar. Lucas was curled against my right arm, and Liam had crawled onto my left shoulder, his thumb tucked firmly into his mouth.

Emma walked over slowly, standing over us with a stack of dry towels she had grabbed from the pool house.

"I believe the Moretti brothers have secured a total victory," she said, her voice gentle in the quiet dusk.

I turned my head slightly, looking at her from the ground. Her blue dress was ruined, her brown cardigan was dripping with muddy water, but her eyes were bright, clear, and utterly devoid of fear.

"Miss Brooks," I said, my voice deep and raspy from laughing.

"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"

"You're fired from following the agency handbook."

She froze for a second, her towel-filled hands pausing mid-air.

"Starting today," I continued, sitting up slowly while cradling Leo in my lap, "you are the head of child development for this house. You answer to no one except me. No spreadsheets, no agency rules, no behavioral reports from consultants who have never set foot in the dirt."

Emma looked at me, a deep, genuine smile slowly spreading across her face. "I can accept those terms, sir. But on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"You get out of the mud and go help me give three very filthy boys a bath."