Vivian
Aunt Tammy paces in front of the window to Finn’s office-turned-bridal-suite, uncharacteristically ruffled. A ringlet from her half-up style tumbles over her eyes, and she flicks the auburn strand away with an irritated huff. My aunt has always been the person to remain steadfast throughout the storm, but as ominous clouds gather over the beach, she’s become rather fidgety.
Brynn, on the other hand, lounges in Finn’s office chair, her thumb scrolling through the Doppler radar. “It’s supposed to hold off until after the ceremony.”