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She spat some ugly words under her breath. “Of course, he’d quit rather than own up to his mistake. Now what?”

“Now I tear out the tile.” He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

“You?” Her eyebrows tilted upward.

“Do you see anyone else who can do it? Of course, me.” She hadn’t been around in the early years, or she wouldn’t have implied he didn’t know what he was doing.

“Right.” She backed away, hands up in surrender. “Just don’t make it any worse.”

Was he still going to need to sack someone today? He’d been ready to fire Steve if needed, but the decision had been made for him. He was still itching.

“Janessa? I’m the boss. I can do every job a reno like this calls for. I have done them all many times. That includes picking colors and painting walls.” Was the threat clear enough?

“Yes, boss.” She offered a half-hearted salute and turned to the door. “I’ll just be over in Cottage Four if you need me for anything.”

“Bring me a plate from lunch when you go down.” It was going to be a few hours before he’d worked out his frustrations. Handy that bashing tile was on his agenda.

“Your girlfriend will miss seeing you.”

“I’ll catch her later. First things first.”

That’s what Dad would have said, right? Work was the priority over everything else. And look where that had gotten James Sullivan.

Maxwell selected his tools, donned a pair of goggles, laid a protective sheet over the granite counter, and began tapping at the edge of the tile. What a shame, since Steve had done great work. But was it great work if the wrong outcome had been achieved?

What did he have to look forward to at the end of his life? Well done, good and faithful servant? Or would it be more along the lines of, you failed, because you worked really hard with rapt attention to all the wrong details?

Tap, tap, tap.

But this was his job! With Steve gone, it was up to Maxwell to make sure things got done.

He snorted. Tapped some more. There really was no way to remove these things without breaking them. Yeah, he’d hoped, even though he knew better. So far, only one tile had popped off whole. Probably’d had an air pocket in the mortar.

Broken tiles lay on the counter. Somehow, they looked like his life.

Did they have to? Or could he salvage the tiles of his life without wrecking them? Then again, mosaics were a thing. In life and in renovations, that broken look wasn’t the high-end result he was going for, though.

Maxwell became aware of Janessa in the bathroom doorway. She cleared her throat. “Hate to tell you, boss, but they can’t get any more of this tile.”

He froze, his tool poised on the edge of a tile. “You said they could.”

“Yeah, the retailer’s inventory said there were enough boxes, but when warehouse went to grab them, they couldn’t find them anywhere. They hunted end-over-end and now assume the tiles were sold and someone forgot to update inventory. They sent out a call to other stores in the network, and no one has any.”

Looked like they were making a mosaic, after all.

Lemonade out of smashed lemons and all that.

“Maxwell wants a lunch to go.” Janessa stared across the counter at Eryn.

Was that smugness? Or was it pity?

Eryn shook it off and lifted her chin. “I’ll get it ready.” Serving meals was her job, after all. But she hadn’t seen him since breakfast yesterday, and she’d tried not to notice him then.

Had Dad scared him off so thoroughly that he’d run blind without even telling her he was through? It didn’t make sense. Not the man who’d kissed her sweetly and promised to pursue her through thick and thin.

Whichever this was, he wasn’t here. He wasn’t pursuing. He was most notably absent.

She poured soup into a snap-lid glass container, fixed a sandwich, and put both into a small, insulated lunch bag, which she passed to Janessa. “Here you go.”