After what feels like a gallon of coffee and a hearty breakfast later, we’re on the road heading north east toward the blink-and-you-miss-it town of Rainbow Springs.
Because it’s so small, it doesn't take us long to find the gas station once we arrive. That’s where I’ve been instructed to go to pick up the keys to the cabin which will be our home for the next three days.
We both hop out of the truck and move to the door, the bell jingling as I hold it open for Mags to go in ahead of me.
“Hey there,” the attendant says from behind the counter. “Welcome to Rainbow Springs Gas, Convenience, Post Office, Hardware Store, and Gnomery.”
I stop dead in my tracks, Mags doing the same. I look at her and she looks right back at me, our expressions mirroring one another—wide eyes, twitching lips, and a knowing look that tells me I’m not the only one struggling to keep it together. Because a) he just said this place was a gnomery and b) the man looks like a real-life gnome.
He stands no more than five feet tall, his build stout and sturdy with skin that speaks of a well-lived life. He has a bulbous nose that seems to take up half of his face and bushy brows arched over twinkling warm eyes. Finally, there's the wide, toothy grin framed by a thick, unkempt beard that cascades down to his chest in waves of silver and white.
I turn back to the man and tip my hat. “Hey. Nice to meet you. That sure is a mouthful. Can't say I've ever been to a gnomerybefore." Glancing around the shop, all I can see at the front of the store are gnomes. So much so that I wonder where the convenience store, post office, and hardware departments are.
“Welp, small towns still need all the facilities but don’t always have all the real estate to accommodate. Because of that, my family decided to combine it all into this one-stop shop–so to speak,” he says,stillsmiling.
Mags glances around the place which is probably the same size as her diner. “You ever think of shortenin’ it?”
The man frowns. “What do you mean?”
“You know, make it a littlelessof a mouthful—better for youandeasier for customers to remember.”
“The name? Can’t say I have. It’s not like there’s a word that would include all of that in it, now is there?”
Mags's amused gaze meets mine. "You said it was a one-stop shop, why not just call it that? At the very least, it'll save you a few words every time a customer stops by," she explains with a shrug.
“Well, I’ll be. That’s agreatidea. I’m George, by the way. George Rainbow.”
My head jerks back, certain that I misheard. “Rainbow?”
George looks amused by my question, making me think it’s not the first time he’s been asked. “That’s my name. George Rainbow.” He puffs out his chest as he says it, proud as punch.
“And you live inRainbowSprings?”
George’s brows pinch together. “Sure do. Did you not see the sign when you drove through?”
“Is this your town then? As in youownit?” I ask.
"Oh, now I get you. Yep. Been in the family for generations," he says, puffing his chest out. "How can I help y'all? You're definitely not from around these parts, that's for sure."
“How can you tell?” Mags asks curiously.
“Cause your truck’s clean for one." I bite back a laugh because usually that would offend a rancher, but since we've been on the road for over a week now and we went through a car wash this morning before leaving Anchorage, I let it go. "And you're offerin' a stranger business advice when you've got nothin' to gain from it. Everyone keeps to themselves in this town. Then again, there's only forty-six… wait," he rubs his chin, "nope, forty-five residents as of the last count."
“Nothin’ like our home in Spring Haven,” Mags pipes up. “Back home, everyone knows everyone and if you don’t, you soon will. It’s like a giant family up there. I think we had 367 townsfolk at last count.”
George’s eyes light up. “Spring Haven, you say? Is that the town that won the Holly Jolly Christmas Cup? Someone told me about that.”
My brows jump sky-high. "You know of our little town?"
“Sure do. Saw photos and everythin’. You sure do love Christmas over there, don’t you? It looked like a winter wonderland,” he says.
Feeling all the gnomes’ eyes watching me, I decide to move the conversation along. “Tell me, George, are you the person to see for the keys to the rental cabins in the woods?”
“Oh!” His eyes light up. “You must be Red Grayson. I’ve been waitin’ for you to arrive.”
Mags tilts her head. “You have?”
“Yep. Not that often we get internet bookin’s so I was wantin’ to put a face to the name.” He grabs a set of keys from under the counter before straightening, looking me up and down as he holds the keys out to me. “Should’ve known you’d be a cowboy with a name like that.”
