Exclusive: Excerpt of ‘Waiting for Tom Hanks’ by Kerry Winfrey

EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT (Chapter 6)

Oh, no. Oh, no. I knew I’d have to see Drew eventually, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be today. Now I’m wishing I thought to wear a disguise, like some glasses or a wig or maybe the giant Predator costume Uncle Don has from the last time he and his friends went to a convention. Anything to stop Drew Danforth from recognizing me from my classic role as Woman Who Spilled Coffee All Over His Coat and Refused to Speak.

But Tommy’s already walking across the street, and people are moving out of our way, and it’s impossible to stop this momentum. Suddenly, there are just three people in front of us; three people who stop talking and look at us expectantly when they see Tommy.

“Annie,” Tommy says, gesturing to several people. “I’d like you to meet our stars. This is Tarah Thomas, our lead actress.”

She smiles, and I’m immediately struck by the thought that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Obviously, I’ve seen her before—I haven’t been living under a rock that doesn’t have cable access—but in person it’s a whole different level. Her dark brown skin glows so much it practically radiates, her curls are artfully styled, her teeth are straight and white. I smile back weakly.

“This is Brody Johnson,” Tommy continues, pointing to a pale guy in a slouchy knit hat and puffy coat.

He lifts a hand in greeting. “I’m the comic relief,” he says with a straight face.

I smile, instantly comfortable around him. He doesn’t even look like a movie star—he looks like a guy you would see in line at the grocery store, which I guess is sort of his appeal. Maybe this won’t be so bad . . .

“And, of course, this is Drew Danforth.”

My smile instantly fades. Here he is, right in front of me, this man with the gold-flecked brown eyes and that voluminous hair. Unlike Brody, Drew does not look like someone you’d see in line in the grocery store. If he was in a grocery store, people would be staring at him and thinking, “Who is that guy?” even if they’d never seen one of his movies.

But I guess he does look like a guy you’d run into on the street, because I literally did.

“Bonjour,” he says with a small smile, before taking a sip of coffee.

I narrow my eyes. “Bonjour,” I mutter back.

“Oh, do you speak French?” Tarah asks.

“N-no,” I stammer, stealing a glance at Drew. He tries to hide his smile behind his cup, but it reaches his eyes. “I mean, I took French in high school but I don’t remember anything. Ouvre la porte. Open the door. I remember that.”

I clamp my mouth shut to stop myself from rambling. I avoid looking at Drew, but from the way his shoulders are shaking, I can tell he’s laughing at me. My embarrassment turns to rage—this guy is famous and rich, and he’s getting his kicks making fun of me, a pathetic assistant/freelance writer?

Tommy claps me on the back. “Well, that might come in handy if you ever get stuck in a bathroom in France. Let me introduce you to our prop department . . .”

With that, he whisks me away from the cast, and I take a deep breath of relief. I refuse to look over my shoulder, but I can feel Drew’s eyes on my back, and I know that if I turned around, I’d find him still watching me.