I grab myself a plate and heap on the pancakes, pop them in the microwave, and then add berries. I sit down across from May and grab the syrup. ‘So.’

‘So.’ She smiles wryly, swallowing a bite of pancake. ‘You sleep well?’

Haha. As well as a man could when he’s hyper-aware of his every-stage-of-life crush asleep next to him. ‘Sure. You?’

She shrugs. ‘Sure. Thanks, by the way. For letting me sleep in there last night.’

‘You don’t have to thank me,’ I say way too quickly. ‘Considering—’

‘Considering,’ echoes May. I watch as she chases a strawberry around her plate, pushing a loose wave of semi-wet hair from her face. She’s traded her jeans for sweatshorts today, paired with a UOKC Meteorology T-shirt. ‘We don’t need to … make it a big deal. Do we?’

I blink. And then I blink again. Don’t need to make it a big deal? Call me a dud, but that was kind of the biggest deal of my life in a really long time. I’d hoped it was at least top ten for her. Maybe.

‘May …’

‘Colt.’ She finally stabs the strawberry with terrifying conviction, locking her eyes on mine. ‘Remember when I mentioned we have different destinations?’

I nod warily. This doesn’t sound great.

‘Well … I think I have an idea of mine. And I think I’m going to be extraordinary. At meteorology.’ Her eyebrows furrow nervously. ‘I’ll stay in Oklahoma for the foreseeable future. And you’ll head right on back to New Haven.’

I feel like I’ve just been kicked in the chest by that temperamental horse Rocky. She’s not declaring? May Velasco, the best the entire South has had in lacrosse in years and years, isn’t going to declare for the MLL draft? It’s a let-down for the sport. It’s a let-down for our game plan, considering what we’ve accomplished – bringing attention to women’s lax at OKC. Getting May on MLL radar will have been in vain. And honestly, it’s a let-down for me, because I’m selfish and I saw a chance, a glimmer of red-card May, the May who’d break any rule to get her way. But above all of it, it’s a let-down for May. May, who will work a nine to five until she retires, and then, who knows, maybe she’ll have all these what-ifs to live with. I see them in her eyes already.

‘We’ve just started repairing this bridge,’ she goes on. ‘I don’t want to sink it before it’s even built. We’ll be miles and miles away. You’ll be on contract …’

She stands up and walks her plate to the sink, rinsing it before racking it in the dishwasher. Maybe nonchalant was my mantra, but she’s the epitome right now. And it’s kind of terrifying.

‘So you’re saying …’