𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 (Annabeth X Malereader)

[10] We visit the garden gnome emporium

We continued until I spotted a deserted two-lane road through the trees. On the other side stood a defunct gas station, a weathered billboard advertising a 1990s movie, and one open shop. It wasn't a fast-food restaurant as I had hoped, but rather one of those quirky roadside shops selling lawn flamingos, wooden Indians, cement grizzly bears, and the like. The main building resembled a long, low warehouse, surrounded by acres of weird statues. The neon sign above the gate proved hard for me to read, thanks to my dyslexia and the red cursive neon lettering.

To my eyes, it appeared as: "ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROUIM." "What the heck does that say?" I asked.

"I don't know," Annabeth replied, her frustration evident. Despite her love for reading, I had forgotten that she, too, was dyslexic.

"Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium," Grover translated. On either side of the entrance, as advertised, stood two cement garden gnomes, unsightly bearded little figures, grinning and waving as if they were posing for a picture. I crossed the street, following the irresistible scent of hamburgers.

"Hey..." Grover warned.

"The lights are on inside," Annabeth pointed out optimistically. "Maybe it's open."

"Snack bar," Percy said wistfully.

"Snack bar," I repeated. Annabeth just rolled her eyes.

"Boys," she muttered.

"Are you guys crazy?" Grover interjected. "This place is weird." The front lot resembled a forest of statues—cement animals, cement children, and even a cement satyr playing the pipes, which gave Grover the creeps.

"Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!" We halted at the warehouse door.

"Don't knock," Grover pleaded. "I smell monsters."

"Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth said. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

"Meat!" he said disdainfully. "I'm a vegetarian."

"You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," I reminded him.

"Those are... vegetables. Come on. Let's leave. These statues are... looking at me." He whimpered.

Then, with a creak, the door swung open, and before us stood a tall Middle Eastern woman. I assumed she was Middle Eastern because she wore a long black gown that concealed everything except her hands, and her head was veiled. Her eyes gleamed behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was all I could discern. Her coffee-colored hands appeared old but well-maintained and elegant, suggesting she had once been a beautiful lady, now a grandmother. Her accent also hinted at a Middle Eastern origin.

"Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?" She inquired in a slow, drawling tone.

"They're... um..." Annabeth began.

"We're orphans," Percy interjected.

"Orphans?" the woman echoed, the word sounding foreign in her mouth. "But, my dears! Surely not!"

"We got separated from our parents," I added, trying to add to the story. "They told us to meet them at a gas station, but I guess they meant a different one. Anyway, is that food I smell?" I emphasized the question, and the same warm sensation washed over us.

"Oh, my dears," the woman said sympathetically. "You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area." Gratefully, we thanked her and followed her inside.

The warehouse was brimming with more statues—people in various poses, dressed in diverse outfits, and bearing different expressions on their faces. I pondered how enormous a garden would need to be to accommodate just one of these life-sized statues. However, my primary focus remained on the delicious aroma wafting through the air.