“You know what they say about intentions.”

“I tend to hold to mine. And while I do enjoy your company, I also recognize your type.” She smiled again and gestured with her glass. “A hundred years ago, the word ‘rogue’ would have come to mind.”

He considered a moment. “That didn’t sound like an insult.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. Rogues are invariably charming and very rarely serious.”

“I have to object there. There are some issues that I’m very serious about.”

“Let’s try this.” She peeked in the cooler and took out another container. “Have you ever been married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?” she asked as she opened the lid and discovered a beautifully prepared crab salad.

“No.”

“Have you ever lived with a woman for a consecutive period of six months or more?”

With a shrug, he took plates out of the hamper, passed her a pale-blue linen napkin. “No.”

“So, we can theorize that one of the issues about which you are not serious is relationships.”

“Or we can theorize that I have yet to meet the woman I want a serious relationship with.”

“We could. However . . .” She narrowed her eyes at his face as he scooped salad onto the plates. “You’re what, thirty?”

“One.” He added a thick slice of French bread to each plate.

“Thirty-one. Typically, by the age of thirty a man in this culture would have experienced at least one serious, long-term, monogamous relationship.”

“I wouldn’t care to be typical. Olives?”

“Yes, thanks. Typical is not necessarily an unattractive trait. Nor is conformity. Everyone conforms. Even those who consider themselves the rebels of society conform to certain codes and standards.”

Enjoying her, he tilted his head. “Is that so, Dr. Griffin?”

“Quite so. Gang members in the inner city have internal rules, codes, standards. Colors,” she added, selecting an olive from her plate. “In that way they don’t differ much from members of the city council.”

“You had to be there,” Phillip mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. What about serial killers?”

“They follow patterns.” Enjoying herself, she tore a chunk off her slice of bread. “The FBI studies them, catalogs them, profiles them. Society wouldn’t term them standards certainly, but in the strictest sense of the word, that’s precisely what they are.”

Damned if she didn’t have a point, he decided. And found himself only more fascinated. “So you, the observer, size people up by noting what rules, codes, patterns they follow.”

“More or less. People aren’t so very difficult to understand, if you pay attention.”

“What about those surprises?”

She smiled, appreciating the question as much as she appreciated that he would think to ask it. Most laymen she’d socialized with weren’t really interested in her work. “They’re factored in. There’s always margin for error, and for adjustments. This is wonderful salad.” She sampled another bite. “And the surprise, a pleasant one, is that you would have gone to the trouble to prepare it.”

“Don’t you find that people are usually willing to go to some trouble for someone they care for?” When she only blinked at him, he tilted his head. “Well, well, that threw you off.”