Tatum and I glance at each other, not bothering to correct her assumption that we’re the couple who wants to get married here as we wait for her to spill it.
“Unfortunately, we’ve had to close our doors to future weddings. We’re in the process of trying to find a buyer, but everyone we’ve talked to wants to gut it and turn it into a mansion. Winston Manor has been in the Winston family for four generations. It’s hard enough to sell it. To imagine someone gutting it simply gutsme. I won’t do it.” She shakes her head adamantly.
“Oh, that is terrible,” Tatum says, peeking past the woman into the space. “You wouldn’t consider allowing me to host a wedding here? One final dream day for a beautiful couple before you sell it?”
She sighs heavily. “I’m too old to host another wedding, I’m afraid.” She clearly missed the part about Tatum being the host. “I’m the last Winston generation. I never had any children, and I have nobody to leave the manor to. I want it in good hands, so I’m working quickly to find the right buyer. That’s taking up all my time right now.”
“What are you looking to sell it for?” Tatum asks quietly. She keeps her gaze focused on the woman rather than glancing at me.
“Five million dollars, contingent on a clause that this plot of land cannot be rezoned to residential.”
Holy fuck. That’s a bargain for this place.
She must not be trying very hard to sell it.
Tatum clears her throat. “I’m a wedding planner, Ms. Winston. I have a vision to buy wedding venues and create dream weddings for my clients. It feels like fate that I came here last today after viewing disappointing venue after disappointing venue only to fall immediately in love with this one before even stepping foot inside. Would you allow us to come in and take a look around?”
She looks surprised by the question, but she opens the door.
We step inside and walk around the first floor, which is basically a huge, open space with a gorgeous view out the back, perfect for a wedding ceremony, a reception, or both. And no red carpet—it’s all hardwood floors in here.
The wall along the right side of the room has a set of double doors on it, and the side by the entryway has a beautiful staircase all the way on the left.
“Right here is where the last wedding had the aisle, with the ceremony taking place in front of the windows,” she says, and Tatum walks the path the last bride walked.
Jesus Christ.
For just a second, I imagine her in a white dress, and I picture myself standing there in a tuxedo by the windows waiting for her.
I shake the vision out, but it’s strange how vivid it is even if it was just for a fleeting moment in time.
Ms. Winston shares the history of the place as we tour the first floor with her, ending up outside in the kind of backyard even I can visualize as the perfect place to hold an elegant wedding reception.
“Winston Manor was built originally in the eighteen hundreds as the home for Martha and Gene Winston, my great-grandparents. When a great gale came through in the late eighteen hundreds, it was one of the few structures that was untouched. They passed the manor to their only son, Gunther. Then the hurricane of nineteen twenty-one blew through, and the home was badly damaged. He rebuilt it, keeping the majority of the framework, but he didn’t want it to be his primary residence any longer, so he created Winston Manor, a place where people could begin their happily ever afters. He was a romantic who would do anything to please my grandmother, and there was nothing sheloved more than a good wedding. The two of them passed the manor to their only son, Arthur, my father, who passed it to me. We’ve gone through many renovations over the years, both structural and aesthetic, but the heart of the manor has always been meant for love stories, perhaps like yours.” She smiles as she nods toward the two of us, and then she heads back inside and through the double doors we hadn’t entered into yet.
We’re taken into a vast and expansive commercial kitchen, already supplied with everything anyone would need to cook up the perfect first meal for the bride and groom.
The entire time the woman talks to us, that same vision keeps popping into my head. Tatum walking down the aisle. Me waiting at the end.
I can’t shake it out no matter how hard I try.
“This is our back-of-house kitchen, and the stairs over there lead up to the office, which is where I was when you rang. Upstairs are the office, restrooms, an owner’s suite, a bridal suite, and a groom’s room. I also recently had an elevator installed behind the grand staircase because it’s harder and harder for me to get up and down the stairs. The six-car garage has been converted to a storage space where we keep chairs, tables, that sort of thing. Would you like to see upstairs?” she asks.
Tatum nods. “Please.”
She nods to the corner. “You’re welcome to take those stairs. Give me a few minutes to meet you there.”
“It’s not necessary. We’ll be quick,” Tatum says.
“Okay, my dears. I’ll be here, then.” She pulls out a chair at a small table in the corner that is probably meant for tastings, and we head upstairs together.
“Oh my God,” she whisper-screams at me once we reach the top of the stairs. A sprawling office stretches in front of us with a couple of desks, but the back wall is all windows,offering unparalleled views of Old Tampa Bay, the northwestern arm of the Tampa Bay estuary.
I had a feeling that’s what she was going to say.
“Ford, this place isperfect. Don’t you think?” She wanders through the large office and toward another hallway, where we find the elevator at the end of a long hallway that has the suites. Two on the left look out the front of the manor, and the one on the right is the owner’s suite that looks over the water.
The owner’s suite is huge. She’s right. Everything about this place is perfect.
