She plugged in her earbuds, turned on her player and made her way through a low-impact aerobic workout, getting the blood flowing and warming up her muscles. Then she ran through a familiar stretching routine, easing down into the splits, bending sideways first, then forward at the waist, stretching out her arms.

After a few minutes, she paused, sensing someone watching.

She turned toward the door to find Reed leaning laconically against the doorjamb.

“I saw the lights.” He straightened and ambled into the room, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, hair tousled, muscles bulging everywhere.

She pulled her legs beneath her and rolled to her feet. “I couldn’t sleep. Time-zone change.”

“Yeah, me, too. Not the time-zone thing. But I couldn’t sleep.” He pointed above his head. “I’m cooking sausage and eggs. You hungry?”

She shook her head. “I’m not much of a breakfast eater.”

Reluctant to stop while her muscles were warmed up, she crossed to the edge of the room, bracing her hand on the ledge. Facing Reed, she raised one leg behind her, gently gripped her toes and stretched out her quad.

“You don’t seem to be much of an eater at all,” he observed.

“Weight’s an issue in my profession.” Not only was a sleek form vital to her look on stage, but she had her partners to think about.

“How much do you weigh?”

She shot him a look of disbelief. “Do you really expect me to answer that?”

He shrugged and moved farther into the room. “Why not? I must weigh two, three times what you do.”

“Reed, you don’t ask a lady her weight.”

“Say that again.”

“You don’t ask a lady her weight?”

“No, the Reed part.”

She gave him a frown. What was that? Was he flirting? Why would he flirt?

He stared back in silence for a long moment. Then he said, “I made you something.”