I sat at the counter at the Royal Diner in Washington DC, waiting for my pie. A disgruntled man in a suit sat beside me, a younger, wiry man following behind him, obviously pestering the first man.

"Pie, please," the first man said to the woman behind the counter. Just as the second man pulled in a breath to speak, the first man turned to him and fired:

"Sweets, I'm not talking to you about my child hood ever, and definitely not in public." Boom. Kid explodes.

"Booth, if we never talk about it, then your whole childhood will be haunted by memories of your father—" This Booth guy whipped around and shot this poor kid who just wanted his attention a deadly glare.

"I swear to GOD, Sweets, I'm not talking about my old man. You already know more than you should. More than anyone but me, Jared, and the old man should." The first man then turned to me, his eyes softening as they met mine.

"You're an incredibly beautiful girl," he said, my face turning pink at the compliment, "how do you get rid of people you don't want to talk to?" I thought for a moment, looking for an answer that didn't include changing my face into weird expressions—this guy was really cute.

"I tell them I'm pregnant with my seventh child, usually. That makes them not want too much." I expected him to laugh, but he turned, serious as death, to this kid, Sweets or whatever.

"Sweets, I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations. Now let's talk about your father."

"Let it go, Sweets." The woman placed both of our pies in front of us, his along with a coffee, black.

"So," I said awkwardly, not leaving the conversation without a fight, "Is it a boy or a girl? You're not even showing." He chuckled.

"I might say the same to you. I'm Seely Booth, this is Sweets." I smiled at…Sweets. What kind of a name is that?

"Jay Gilroy. Nice to meet you, Mr. Booth."

"The same to you. And Seely, please." I smiled cordially at him. Gosh, he was really attractive, I couldn't get over it. His smile was wide and white, heart-poundingly charming.

"Seely," I said, liking the way it tasted.

"So, Jay," he said, trying to establish something in common, "What do you do for a living?"

"To pay the bills, I waitress, but I'm actually a starving artist." I laughed quietly. That was the first time I'd referred to myself that way.

"What's your medium? Charcoal, pencil, paint?"

"Words. I'm an author. Novelist, really. How about you? You strike me as someone with a soft spot for hard music."

"I do love me some oldies, but you're looking at Special Agent Booth of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, though I work with the scientists over at the Jeffersonian institute."

"Impressive," I said, actually impressed. Well, that explained the suit. "And you, Mr. Sweets?"

"Doctor, actually. FBI psychologist." I nodded, unsure of what to say next these were the great thinkers and doers of the American public. I, a lowly writer.

"Well, I always knew this pie was to die for. Did someone really? Why's the FBI here?"

"For a slice of pie and coffee," answered Seely Booth. "Working all night can leave a man hungry." My hair fell in my face. How silly. What did I think he was going to say? Yes, actually. Counter lady, you're under arrest for making a perfect apple pie. You have the right to cook forever. Jeeze, I'm a loser. Dr. Sweets elbowed Special Agent Seely Booth in the ribs. After a muttered 'ow' and gentle shove, he turned to me.

"Do you maybe wanna grab a drink with me sometime?"

"I'd love to," I said, slowly lifting his phone off the counter, making sure it was okay, and tapping in my number. "Call me, maybe?" I smiled one last time and made my get away. As I stood on the street corner, waiting for an empty cab, my phone rang.

"Hello?" I started to say, but I was cut off by a male voice.

"How about Saturday at eight. Founding Fathers?"

"Seely Booth," I said in recognition. I turned round to see him looking out at me through the big window. He waved, just one shake of the hand, acknowledging me. He had his phone to his ear and a smile on his face.

"Sound good?" he asked, his lips in synchronization with the words in my ear.

"Sounds more than perfect."

"It's a date."

"That it is." I smile. Wow. I had a date with him.

"I'll see you then," he said in closing.

"Not if I see you first." I heard the click of his phone and saw a laugh on his mouth as a cab pulled over to take me home.