The salt in the air was thick, and Pope was sitting with his legs dangling over the water, his journal resting beside him, half-full of theories, maps, and his usual scribbled thoughts.

You walked up quietly, holding two lemonades you’d grabbed from The Wreck. He looked up, surprised — not startled — and smiled in that quiet, thoughtful way he always did. “Didn’t think you’d show,” he said, taking the cup.

“You said sunset,” you replied. “I figured you’d be here thinking about treasure or taxes.”

That earned a laugh — the kind that lit up his face and made you feel like you’d just unlocked something rare.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the sound of the water slapping against the posts, and the warm buzz of summer cicadas.

“You ever wonder what life would be like if none of this gold-hunting craziness ever happened?” he asked, glancing sideways at you.

You nodded. “Yeah. But then I think… if it hadn’t, I don’t know if we’d be here. Like this.”

He didn’t say anything at first — just leaned a little closer, his knee brushing yours. “I think I would’ve found my way to you anyway.”