Like a baby's buttered bottom

Had a little filly in here from West Virginia over the past few weeks. More of a thoroughbred, actually. Full-figured, but not overweight, with a really sweet personality and a beautiful voice not overwhelmed by a pretty thick accent. I guess normally I would have found it obnoxious, but she was really nice and pretty so I liked her.

She came in followed by a kind of creepy, older black man, who had a very round head and a deeply faded, multi-colored jacket. They sort of awkwardly said goodbye and then he left.

She was staying for two weeks, some kind of business thing, so we talked about that a little, flirted, made a little small talk, I said I was glad she was staying for a while and I'd definitely be seeing her a lot.

She pauses before she heads upstairs. "Is that normal?" she asks confusedly.
"What?" I ask.
"Y,know, fer them to meet ya at the train station and then take ya all the way back to the hotel?"
"Do you know that guy?"
"No"
"Then, uh, no, that's not normal"
"Hmm." she shrugs, and skips up off to bed.

~~~~~

Over the next few weeks she comes in and out and we greet each other warmly every time.
She's there when I come in with my new haircut, and I think even she's a little proud of me.
I smile wryly and she smiles broadly every time we see one another, and we've got a nice little rapport

~~~~~

Fast-forward to the night before she's leaving. She's heading out the door, and I don't remember how I found out, but she's about to go to meet the sketchy man who followed her here on the very first night! I casually ask her if she thinks this is a good idea, with an expression that said, 'I'm concerned about you but I think you're an idiot'

"It's alraht!," she protests theatrically, in a manner peculiar to Southern girls. "My freeiend tawlked to 'im, n' turns out he's a playwraht! And she's a New Yorker," implying that her friend would be able to see right through some flimsy scheme.,

"Oh yeah?" I ask curiously, "How long she lived here?"
She scuffs the floor. "Three months," she says begrudgingly.
"And where's she froooom?" I ask teasingly.
"Texas," she admits with a laugh.
"Alright then," I nod.

"So.... you don't think its a good idea?"
II make a face like I'm weighing her decision gravely, but don't respond.

"Awww...yer alwaays lookin out for me. Ev'rbody else's just makin' fun o' mah acceeent"

Now if there's one surprise benefit I've gotten from this job, it's the authoritative ease you get just from standing behind a desk. This quality is completely lacking in every other aspect of my life, but somehow, when I'm behind that desk, I turn into a smooth motherfucker. Unfortunately, when this quality deserts me, it does so spectacularly, and before I know it I've run off the cliff without noticing and now I'm blinking twice and looking down into a canyon. This was one of those times.

"But I love your accent," I say with genuine sympathy. Uh-oh. What to follow up with?
How about, "It's like honey in my ears"