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Megan did not let go until the tears dried up. When I finally pulled back, my face was a mess.

I let out a watery laugh. “I actually said the stepmother thing at the table after Harrison accused me of playing games. Only I topped it off with the warning that I could be his mother-in-law too.”

“Oh my gosh, did you really?” she gasped.

“Yup.” I pressed my palm against my mouth to hold back another sob.

“Don’t look so horrified.” She winked. “You channeled your inner me.”

“Maybe I did.” I wiped my face with the heel of my hand. “But it wasn’t my finest moment.”

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t invited to dinner tonight because a lot worse would’ve been said.”

More tears streamed down my cheeks. “Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to be wrecked.”

I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice.

She got up and came back with water and a box of tissues. We sat on the couch until I couldn’t cry anymore, and there was a pile of tissues on the table.

“Okay, so does a pause warrant alcohol, ice cream, or both?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I think this calls for macaroni and cheese.”

“Your mom’s recipe?”

“Of course.”

She stood and tugged me to my feet. “Comfort food at its finest.”

When we were in the kitchen, she started pulling out the pot and pan I’d need while I grabbed the ingredients. It only took about half an hour for me to boil the pasta and make the sauce. But then we had to wait another thirty minutes for it to bake.

“Stay,” I requested when I saw the clock on the oven. “The guest room is already made up.”

“I was already planning on it.” She squeezed my hand. “Go change. I’ll pour the wine. White, right?”

I thought about the bottle I’d had delivered to the table at Nobu. “Actually, champagne would be best.”

“Hell yes.”

She rummaged through my wine rack and pulled out a bottle of Yellow Label Brut that was nearly as good a year as the one I didn’t even get a sip of before my dinner plans went to hell.

“That’s actually perfect.” I tilted my chin toward the freezer. “If you put it in there while the mac and cheese bakes, it’ll act like a blast chiller.”

“Will do.”

I went upstairs, changed into pajamas, and washed my face. When I came back down, Megan had glasses, plates, and forks out. And as soon as the pan was out of the oven, she poured the champagne while I dished up bowls of my favorite comfort food for us.

Then we went into the living room and got comfy on the couch.

“To the bottle you actually get to drink,” she offered.

I touched my glass to hers. “And to not wasting it on people who call it cheap.”

We drank and ate, finishing the bottle and most of the pan. With my belly full and the alcohol in my system, my eyes grew heavy.

“Bed,” she ordered. “You need some sleep.”