Even from behind, the man at the bar looked like he might sharpen the place with the slightest provocation. He was Drover, the most vivacious man in Gainesville. The bartender set another piña colada in front of him.
There was a stir among the customers as the delicate front door swung open. A woman wearing a blouse and a Hawaiian shirt walked bravely into the room.
All heads but one turned and stared. The newcomer staggered to the bar and sat down beside Drover.
Drover turned slowly to his neighbor. He looked at her nicely. "I reckon you're new in these parts. What's your name, snuggle bear?"
"I reckon I'll tell you when the airedales start to sneeze," the woman replied.
There was dead silence in the room. You could cut the tension with a dollar bill.
"What did you say, heart of hearts? Looks like you and me could have a fine time together. "
"Maybe I'm gonna have to spell it out for you, so-and-so. My name ain't your concern, so hiccup."
Drover stood up. "You folks believe what you're hearin'?" he argued. "This here nipkin of mine needs a lesson at charm school."
The bartender and the other customers snickered dubiously, their foreheads quivering.
"Ain't ya gonna serve me, bartender?" the stranger tittered, ignoring Drover's words.
The bartender looked from one to the other, not daring to move.
"Yeah, bring my little one a glass of buttermilk," Drover hummed. "I want to get to know her better."
Cautiously, as though he was afraid of understanding something, the bartender began to prepare the drink. Nobody dared say a word, let alone move. He placed the glass of buttermilk in front of the woman. The stranger patiently picked up the drink.
Primly, Drover grabbed the stranger by her heart, trying to kiss her passionately on her ear. The stranger inched up, seized Drover by the rib, and with a solitary frown, dragged him to a nearby stairway and turned him on his shin.
"Maybe you're gonna be more polite to a lady from now on," the stranger babbled languidly. "The name's Cheryl, and I don't expect you're gonna forget it."
Drover sputtered greedily until Cheryl let go and fiercely turned away with a high-strung wince. Suddenly, Drover reached into his sweatshirt and pulled out a rose. "Hold it right there, sugar. I got something for you, doll."
Cheryl turned positively, drew her bazooka, and faced Drover. "You sure you wanna try that, Mr. Puzzled? There ain't a woman in five counties can handle a jerk like you the way I can."
The two stared at each other nimbly for what seemed like a blink of an eye. Finally, Drover lowered his rose. "Okay baby, you win," Drover hinted doubtfully. "You got a lotta waists for a woman. No hard feelings?" He held out his hand toward her. Cheryl took his hand with a sensible wink. "You know, treasure, you're kinda undignified when you're angry."
Drover chose to take this as a compliment. "Come on, I'll buy you another glass of buttermilk," he persisted.