Review copy provided by the publisher for review
A pitch perfect beach read!
If you’re a mega-fan of 90s rom-coms, you and Waiting for Tom Hanks (June 11; Berkley Romance) by Kerry Winfrey are M-F-E-O. Made For Each Other. It’s a supercute (and totally self-aware) homage to the genre, with nods to everything from Sleepless in Seattle and When Harry Met Sally to Notting Hill to The Wedding Singer.
It’s a book so timely it comments on how homogeneous rom-coms are but that we’re starting to see things change with the success of To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and Crazy Rich Asians. (You should also go watch Always Be My Maybe on Netflix, if you haven’t already).
Annie is a freelance writer whose whole perspective on relationships is shaped by the rom-coms she grew up watching with her mom. She’s watched You’ve Got Mail 100 times and can quote it on command. Annie meets Drew Danforth on a movie set in Columbus, Ohio. He’s the star, she’s fallen into a job as the director’s assistant.
You can tell when an author has a real affinity for her subject. Kerry Winfrey clearly knows her rom-coms (check out the Tumblr she wrote “A Year of Rom-Coms” if you have any doubt). Annie and Drew’s story hits all the rom-com beats: the meet cute, the banter, the misunderstandings, the grand gesture and even the sprint to the finish. The cast is rounded out by Annie’s bestie/sidekick Chloe and the coffee shop co-worker who’s crushing on Chloe big time.
Waiting for Tom Hanks doesn’t just honor classic rom-coms, it straight up celebrates them. It’s charming, delightful and a summer must-read. I can already tell this is one I’ll revisit again and again, just like my favorite movie rom-coms. People always say reading a book is like watching a movie in your head. That’s 100 percent true with Waiting for Tom Hanks. Pop yourself some popcorn, grab a gallon of Diet Coke and get ready for a cinematic experience.
4 stars
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EXCERPT FROM WAITING FOR TOM HANKS:
I blink a few times, staring straight into Drew Danforth’s face. It’s like when you’re a kid and there’s a solar eclipse, and all the teachers are like, “Don’t look directly into the sun! You’ll destroy your retinas!” but there’s always that one kid (Johnny Berger, in our class) who can’t stop staring.
In this situation, I’m Johnny Berger. And I guess Drew Danforth is the sun.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, enunciating his words even more as if me understanding him is the problem. His brown eyes, I notice, are flecked with tiny bits of gold, which is something you can’t see when you watch him on TV. His hair is just as voluminous as it seems in pictures, but in person, I have the almost overwhelming urge to touch it, to reach out and pull on that one lock of hair that hangs over his forehead.
“She’s not responding.” He turns to Chloe. “Is something wrong?”
“She’s French,” Chloe says without missing a beat. “She only speaks French.”
“I’m not French,” I say, breaking my silence. Chloe and Drew’s heads swivel to look at me.
“I’m sorry about your coat,” I whisper, then I run toward Nick’s.
Chloe bursts in the door behind me, the bell jingling in her wake. “I’m not French?” she screeches. “Those are the first words you spoke to Drew Danforth? Really?”
“Well then, why did you tell him I was French?” I shout, ignoring the curious stares of everyone working on their laptops and the calming melody of whatever Nick put on to replace the Doobies.
“I don’t know!” She throws her hands in the air. “You weren’t talking, so I thought I’d give you an interesting backstory!”
I put my hands over my face. “This is ridiculous.”
“No,” Chloe says, grabbing me by the shoulders. “This is your meet-cute, and now you need to go back out there and find him and say something that isn’t a negation of your Frenchness or an apology for destroying his probably very expensive coat.”
“Meet what?”
Nick stares at us from behind the counter, a dishtowel in his hand.
“A meet-cute,” Chloe stands up straight, shoulders back, as if she’s delivering a Romantic Comedy 101 lecture to Nick and his patrons, “is the quirky, adorable, cute way the hero and heroine of a romantic comedy meet.”
Everyone stares at her blankly.
“Or hero and hero. Or heroine and heroine. Not to be heteronormative,” she clarifies.
“Like how me and Martha met at her wedding,” Gary says.
Chloe thinks about it. “I don’t know that I would necessarily call that one a meet-cute, but sure, Gary.”
“Did you just make that up?” Nick asks, arms crossed.
I shake my head. “No. It’s a thing.”
“Watch a romantic comedy, dude,” Tobin says.
Nick rolls his eyes.
“Anyway,” Chloe continues, “Annie straight up ran into Drew Danforth and spilled a cup of coffee all over his coat, which is, like, the cutest of meets.”
“That doesn’t sound very cute,” Nick says skeptically, rubbing the scruff on his chin. “Was it still hot?”
“Scalding,” I say, sinking into my chair and resting my head on the table.
“Sounds like a meet painful,” says Gary, and a few people laugh.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “I’m so glad you all find my embarrassment entertaining.”
“Annie!” Chloe sits down across from me as a customer walks in and the rest of the shop stops paying attention to us. “This isn’t embarrassing. This is merely a story I’ll tell in my toast at your wedding to Drew.”
I lift my head to look at her. “I hate to break this to you, but I don’t think he’s my Tom Hanks. I think he’s just a famous guy with a possible third-degree burn on his chest. And now my first day on set is going to be super awkward because I accidentally assaulted the lead actor with a beverage.”
Chloe’s about to say something, but then a song starts and she closes her mouth, looking up toward the speakers. “I swear to God, I told Nick not to play any more Bon Iver. It makes people look up their exes on Instagram, not buy coffee. I’m gonna go put on some Hall and Oates.”
As she walks away, I rest my head on the table again. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to have my uncle get me a job on set, now I have to deal with this.
