“It’s gots to be real! It’s gots to be real!”

The words didn’t quite match the lyrics sung by Cheryl Lynn, but Kenny had a way of making each song his own. Despite having raised the level of their bikes to “nine,” a few snickers echoed around the spin class.

As usual, Juliet was at her Saturday morning spin class, which was no surprise should anyone have done a thorough analysis. And Juliet most certainly had.

This specific class, at this specific gym, at this specific time was the deliberate result of a number of factors, each contributing to the probability of her actually attending on a regular basis.

Arranged in order of weighted importance:

• Proximity to her apartment
• Proximity to a Starbucks with plenty of seating
• Specifically being located between said apartment and said Starbucks
• Likelihood of actually getting a bike without being wait-listed
• Starting late enough for her to wake up, get ready, and make it to class
• Starting early enough so she didn't laze the morning away and eventually decide not to attend
• Liking the instructor

It was a good thing that the instructor was weighted less heavily than the others, since Juliet normally didn't care for Kenny's rather flamboyant way of guiding them through the class.

However, today even Juliet managed a chuckle.

“And release! Back down to two, for a verrrry short recovery!” he yelled in his exuberant way, as You’re the One that I Want from Grease came on. “Okay, everyone…it’s race time! Y’all know what to do! Get them legs pumpin’!”

Juliet took a deep breath and began to pedal faster. It helped that her heart was one step ahead of her the whole time. As she thought about last night’s date, her legs pedaled faster, trying to catch up with her rapidly beating heart.

Sadly, it wasn’t because of Simon.

Chance.

What a name. A name with a story. A name that had disappeared almost as soon as it had been uttered.

Her legs faltered and her bike shoe snapped out of its lock.

Dammit!

Juliet snapped it back in, and began peddling faster again. As her pace increased, so did her optimism for some reason.

“Okay, now I wanna hear y’all sing along!” Kenny urged as the song got to its chorus. “Get that air into y’all’s lungs!”

“Ooh ooh ooh,” Kenny crooned. “I don’t hear y’all!”

As usual, only a few spinners joined in. Normally, Juliet wouldn’t have joined them in a million years.

Today was different.

“Ooh ooh ooh,” she belted out, earning her a surprised look of respect from Kenny.

“That’s it, girl!”

For some reason that got more people in the class going. By the end of the song, everyone was “Ooh ooh oohing,” and laughing as they raced.

“And…done!” cried Kenny, clapping his hands.

* * *

“What got into you today?” Shayla Sweeny looked at Juliet with an amused smirk as they wiped down their bikes.

After spin class, showering and doing her hair at the gym, Juliet’s next item on the agenda was always a trip to Starbucks, where she put all the calories she had just burned right back on with a grande caramel macchiato. Practically, without fail.

Shayla and she were what they termed “weekend friends.” Months ago they had found themselves standing next to each other in line at Starbucks. After recognizing each other from class, they decided to sit at the only available table together. Now it was their regular Saturday routine.

Juliet just shrugged. “I’m just feeling good, I guess.”

“The date went that well?” Shayla asked raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Juliet just laughed. “Not quite. Long story.”

“Ooh, now I’m really looking forward to my after-spin Starbucks.”

* * *

“And then he just took off?” Shayla asked, sipping her latte.

They were relegated to the patio outside Starbucks, and enjoying it, despite the late summer Houston heat.

Once again, Juliet admired how well her friend put herself back together again after spin class. Her hair was natural, in a cute little afro, so that helped. But the once sweat-drenched, makeup-free face was now like something off the cover of Essence Magazine. She wore a bright orange tank top that showed off her dark skin beautifully, and a fun, colorful print wrap skirt.

Juliet’s typical style was carefully curated, based on plenty of research, for the strongest possibility of attracting the kind of man she wanted…or thought she did. After last night she wasn’t so sure. All the same, she had officially crossed that dreaded threshold firmly into her 30s and she couldn’t afford to take chances with her appearance.

She had washed, blow-dried, and flat ironed her own relaxed hair into something resembling “straight,” which was a safe, neutral style. It went down past her shoulders, the ends curled for good measure. Her make-up was the usual mascara/eye-liner/lip gloss simplicity she limited herself to; not too heavy or too light. She wore a sleeveless, knee-length sundress in white eyelet fabric that showed off her brown skin perfectly; just feminine enough to be pretty, but not overly precious.

“Yeah. Gone, just like that,” she said, shrugging. “But, I don’t know. For some reason it just felt like that wasn’t the end of it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Shayla said, lifting her sunglasses up on her head. “Is this our Juliet? The one who doesn’t believe in chance, or luck, or fate? Praise Jesus, we’ve finally found a man to convert our little analytical cynic,” she said, falling back in her chair with a laugh.

Juliet just kicked one sandaled foot out at her friend. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was just a fun detour on a so-so date.” She frowned, remembering how disappointing Simon had been. “A really so-so date.”

“And here you are, ooh, ooh, oohing, during spin class.” Shayla leaned in closer to Juliet. “Girl, if you don’t put whatever’s going on with you out into the universe then you don’t deserve this guy.”

Her friend fell back and brought her sunglasses down again. “At least tell me he was hot enough for the spank bank.”

“Shayla!” Juliet yelped with a laugh, nearly spitting out her macchiato.

Shayla just laughed. “Oh come on. Dish! I need something to distract me from the neanderthal waiting back at home for me, no doubt still in his boxers and unshaved face, drinking milk straight out of the carton. And before you say anything, I love him to death despite that.”

Juliet took one look at the ring on Shayla’s finger and felt that familiar pang of envy. At 31, it seemed like Juliet was a walking, talking cliché: smart, attractive, successful, nice…yet no man to show for it.

Not that it should matter. Or so all the magazines, books, and websites had informed her.

Juliet wasn’t desperate for a man, she just felt like she should have met someone she was compatible enough with to marry by now. It was getting to the point where she had to analyze what was wrong with her, and not the men she was dating.

“Well?”

Juliet was brought out of those sobering thoughts and taken back to last night. She recalled the man with the recklessly styled hair, the eyes that sparkled with an interesting hue even in the darkness of the museum, and that killer smile.

“I guess if you took…the voice of Matthew McConaughey, the attitude of that guy from Suits—”

“Gabriel Macht?” Shayla interrupted, leaning in and pushing her glasses back up again. “Now I’m really intrigued.”

“Yeah, but he looks more like a mix of…” she thought about it, “50% Jensen Ackles, definitely in the eyes and mouth, 30% Bradley Cooper around the mouth, and…maybe 20% Paul Walker?”

Shayla stared at her for a beat. “Leave it to you to boil him down to the world’s hottest formulaic equation.”

“It just fits,” Juliet said, the picture of Chance etched so deep into her brain that he might as well have been standing in front of her once again.

“Of course the question still remains….”

Juliet bit, rolling her eyes, even though she damn well knew where Shayla was going. “What?”

“How the hell are you going to run into this Casanova again?”

Now it was Juliet’s turn to fall back into her chair. “I don’t know. All he has is my first name and…”

She recalled the slip-up with the mention of the butterfly center. At the time, she had been appalled at how easily she had revealed her guilty pleasure to a perfect stranger. She often escaped to the butterfly center during the week, which was only a hop, skip and a jump from where she worked at Rice University.

“And what?” Shayla asked idly.

“I mentioned the butterfly center.”

Shayla raised an eyebrow. “Well, there you go.”

Juliet wrinkled her brow. “I didn’t even tell him when or where or—”

“So what?” Shayla sighed and put down her cup. “Juliet, not everyone in the world operates by a perfect analysis of likelihood and probability and whatever else it is that goes on in your brain. Some people just throw caution to the wind and follow their gut.”

Juliet frowned.

“Don’t you dare give me that look. After all, what the hell has eHarmony gotten you so far? You wanna talk odds, how about I bet you that this guy is sitting in that butterfly center right now, damn sure you’ll show up?”

Juliet laughed.

“Laugh all you want, but when I get back from my vacation in two weeks it will be you buying me my latte, girlfriend.”

* * *

Juliet had a membership to the museum. Considering how often she made her way across Main Street from Rice University to the museum on a weekly basis, it made financial sense.

As soon as she entered the Cockrell Butterfly Center, a mostly black butterfly with white streaks landed on her dress. Juliet was thrilled; the butterflies never landed on her.

She made a point to note, not only the species of butterfly itself, but exactly where and when it had landed, what part of the center she was standing in, what lotion and soap she had used earlier today—speaking of scent, did the caramel macchiato play a role?—what time of day it was, how long since she had washed this dress. Did her laundry detergent make a difference? Perhaps it was the fabric of her dress….

“Well, hello there stranger.”

Every bit of analysis in her head evaporated upon hearing that voice.

Juliet turned to see her JensenBradleyPaul hybrid with a Matthew voice and Gabriel attitude strolling toward her. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt that showed off his admirable build, and a pair of jeans that revealed something even more impressive.

Upon closer reflection, none of those men had anything on this one.

This one was his own man.