Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 79,000-word annoyance-to-lovers romcom that combines the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy, the heartfelt search for magic in B.K. Borison’s First-Time Caller, and the comedic dating gauntlet of Netflix’s Voicemails for Isabelle. Given your interest in X

Love is Sky Belova’s religion, and she dreams of turning her romance-inspired art into a future her Russian immigrant parents can no longer label a phase. Her summer residency is her big break, so going viral for defending the validity of romance novels to a handsome stranger is simply an embarrassing detour…until arriving at the arts residency and discovering he’s the owner’s son who also lives on the premises.

Sky seizes the chance to wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s face and prove to everyone in her life she isn’t living in a fantasy world, betting that she’ll get her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. After watching love hurt his family the entirety of his twenty-eight years, the grumpy hookup app founder built a fortune wagering against the scam we call commitment. So Archer only accepts if, upon failing, Sky publicly endorses his anti-romance app, turning virality into signups.

Except instead of “I told you so”, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters and even encourages the rose-colored mentality she’s spent her life defending. After their feud transforms into fun banter and five-chili-pepper-level attraction, Sky learns that while his support was genuine, Archer’s been using her private dating life as social media fodder. Though he tries to win her back by orchestrating second chance into Sky’s next trope, after finally choosing herself over the opinions and expectations of those around her, she must decide if Archer belongs in her happy ending.

FIRST 300:

Sky 

 
Two thoughts hit me at once: first, this is the last time I follow my best friend’s advice, which has previously included shroom-infused face lotion. The second is that I might be having a heart attack. 
All the blood in my body just rushed to my perpetually swoony organ, so I’ll have to circle back to the first thought later. Thump. So many thumps. 
I’m at one of those places where the line—more of a cluster, really—is the main attraction. Where the sure-to-be-subpar coffee, made to feel exclusive with a $15 price tag is almost beside the point. However, no one in the shop’s too-sceney-for-eight-in-the-morning collective manages to pull focus from the man responsible for my coronary. 
A woman in enormous black Céline sunnies bumps into me on her way out, gripping her matcha like it’s more human baby than seafoam green liquid. God bless her. She jostled me out of my stupor. 
Re: my first thought. If a café could have an affiliate link in bio, this one would. Admittedly, the ceramic mugs lining the floating oak shelves below a minimalist black menu board are very aesthetically pleasing. 
“Piccolo!” a barista calls out.
I roll the sleeve of my flowy dress in case the counter is dirty and reach for the cup. A masculine hand lands on it at the same time, causing mine to awkwardly entwine with his. My eyes move slowly upward, along the slightly wrinkled, beige linen sleeve of the man’s shirt until they rest on a very tan face about six or seven inches above my own. 
The din of the coffee shop fades, my heart stuttering. Is this—could this be what I think it is?

Thank you to everyone for your feedback!

Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 79,000-word annoyance-to-lovers romcom that combines the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy, the heartfelt search for magic in B.K. Borison’s First-Time Caller, and the comedic dating gauntlet of Netflix’s Voicemails for Isabelle. Given your interest in X

Love is Sky Belova’s religion, and she dreams of turning her romance-inspired art into a future her Russian immigrant parents can no longer label a phase. Her summer residency is her big break, so going viral for defending the validity of romance novels to a handsome stranger is simply an embarrassing detour…until arriving at the arts residency and discovering he’s the owner’s son who also lives on the premises.

Sky seizes the chance to wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s face and prove to everyone in her life she isn’t living in a fantasy world, betting that she’ll get her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. After watching love hurt his family the entirety of his twenty-eight years, the grumpy hookup app founder built a fortune wagering against the scam we call commitment. So Archer only accepts if, upon failing, Sky publicly endorses his anti-romance app, turning virality into signups.

Except instead of “I told you so”, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters and even encourages the rose-colored mentality she’s spent her life defending. After their feud transforms into fun banter and five-chili-pepper-level attraction, Sky learns that while his support was genuine, Archer’s been using her private dating life as social media fodder. Though he tries to win her back by orchestrating second chance into Sky’s next trope, after finally choosing herself over the opinions and expectations of those around her, she must decide if Archer belongs in her happy ending.

ALT STAKES: Though Archer tries to win her back by orchestrating second chance into her next trope, Sky must decide whether the love stories she shaped her identity—and portfolio—around belong in real life or were only meant to exist in fiction.

NOTE: I tried following the dual POV structure, though the first sentence in the second (Archer’s) paragraph made the first (Sky’s) paragraph too long. I felt like it could work in the second because it’s the inciting incident, and not only about Sky.

FIRST 500:

Only One Coffee

When two people are forced—by circumstance, caffeine shortages, fate, or an overworked barista—to accidentally share a coffee order, resulting in escalating tension and at least one prolonged stare over a cardboard cup sleeve. 

Often manifests through variations of the classic one bed trope (also known as one room, one horse, one tent, etc.).

Visual markers include lipstick on a plastic lid, steam rising into the air, and a pair of oversized sunglasses.

See Wayne Thiebaud. 

Sky

 
Two thoughts hit me at once: first, this is the last time I follow my best friend’s advice, which has previously included shroom-infused face lotion. The second is that I might be having a heart attack. 
All the blood in my body just rushed to my perpetually swoony organ, so I’ll have to circle back to the first thought later. Thump. So many thumps. 
I’m at one of those places where the line—more of a cluster, really—is the main attraction. Where the sure-to-be-subpar coffee, made to feel exclusive with a $15 price tag is almost beside the point. However, no one in the shop’s too-sceney-for-eight-in-the-morning collective manages to pull focus from the man responsible for my coronary. 
A woman in enormous black Céline sunnies bumps into me on her way out, gripping her matcha like it’s more human baby than seafoam green liquid. God bless her. She jostled me out of my stupor. 
Re: my first thought. If a café could have an affiliate link in bio, this one would. Admittedly, the ceramic mugs lining the floating oak shelves below a minimalist black menu board are very aesthetically pleasing. 
“Piccolo!” a barista calls out.
I roll the sleeve of my flowy dress in case the counter is dirty and reach for the cup. A masculine hand lands on it at the same time, causing mine to awkwardly entwine with his. My eyes move slowly upward, along the slightly wrinkled, beige linen sleeve of the man’s shirt until they rest on a very tan face about six or seven inches above my own. 
The din of the coffee shop fades, my heart stuttering. Is this—could this be what I think it is?
He’s devastating. Attractive in the sort of way that suggests he knows it. The type to have Monica slash Blonde from Surf Lodge and Lauren slash Brunette from Gurney’s in his contacts. 
I should stop staring. 
“I believe this is my drink,” he—the he*—*says, grinning lopsidedly and revealing a dimple on his left cheek.
“I believe this is my drink,” I correct him pleasantly, silently commanding myself to be cool.
It’s hard enough locating the silky ristretto shot topped with steamed microfoam in Manhattan, let alone East Hampton. Typical. The more you want something, the more the universe insists on hiding it in the very last rack of a sample sale. 
“You sure about that?” 
My head tilts. Who’s condescending over coffee? Like, imagine gatekeeping bean water. “Pretty sure, yeah. Fifteen minutes is a long wait, but not long enough for me to forget my order.”

Chapter 1

Only One Coffee

When two people are forced—by circumstance, caffeine shortages, fate, or an overworked barista—to accidentally share a coffee order, resulting in escalating tension and at least one prolonged stare over a cardboard cup sleeve. 

Often manifests through variations of the classic one bed trope (also known as one room, one horse, one tent, etc.).

Visual markers include lipstick on a plastic lid, steam rising into the air, and a pair of oversized sunglasses.

See Wayne Thiebaud. 

Sky

 
Two thoughts hit me at once: first, this is the last time I follow my best friend’s advice, which has previously included shroom-infused face lotion. The second is that I might be having a heart attack. 

I decide to circle back to the first thought later. Because all the blood in my body just rushed to my favorite swoony organ. Thump. So many thumps. 

I’m at one of those places where the line—more of a cluster, really—is the main attraction. Where the sure-to-be-subpar coffee, made to feel exclusive with a $15 price tag is almost beside the point. However, no one in the shop’s too-sceney-for-eight-in-the-morning collective manages to pull focus from the man responsible for my cardiac issues. Who looks like that this early on a weekday? Is that legal? Is that possible? Should someone check on the laws of physics?

I’m no stranger to rose-colored glasses. Some would say we’re family. (My real family, on the other hand, spent twenty-five years trying to replace them with practical gray ones. At this point, I think they’re simply relieved I haven’t succumbed to one of my self-inflicted coronaries.) But…not even the pink-tinted frames I just pushed up my nose could shield me from the fact that this is the sort of guy who has Monica slash Blonde from Surf Lodge and Lauren slash Brunette from Gurney’s in his contacts. I know I shouldn’t be staring. And I’m not, I swear. I just—

A woman in enormous black Céline sunnies bumps into me on her way out, gripping her matcha like it’s more human baby than seafoam green liquid. God bless her. She jostled me out of my stupor. 

Re: my first thought. If a café could have an affiliate link in bio, this one would. 

“Piccolo!” a barista calls out.

I roll the sleeve of my flowy dress in case the counter is dirty and reach for the cup. A masculine hand lands on it at the same time, causing mine to awkwardly entwine with his. My eyes move slowly upward, along the slightly wrinkled, beige linen sleeve of the man’s shirt until they rest on a very tan face about six or seven inches above my own. 

The din of the coffee shop fades, my heart stuttering. Is this—could this be what I think it is?

“I believe this is my drink,” he—the he*—*says, grinning lopsidedly and revealing a dimple on his left cheek.

“I believe this is my drink,” I correct him pleasantly, silently commanding myself to be cool.

The silky ristretto shot topped with steamed microfoam is the whole reason I decided to try this new place. It’s hard enough locating one in Manhattan, let alone East Hampton. 

That’s sort of the universe's thing, isn’t it? The more you want something, the more it insists on hiding it on the very last rack of a sample sale. Like it’s waiting to see if you’ll keep digging. My parents would say suffering is a prerequisite to success. Or, according to most Russian immigrants: Tuesday. And hey, if it doesn’t kill you, at least you have something to complain about in your Notes app. Not that waiting an extra ten minutes for artisanal brain fuel in a café where overpriced ceramic mugs line custom-designed floating oak shelves below a minimalist black menu board would normally put me in imminent danger. 

“You sure about that?” 

My head tilts. He almost sounds…condescending. Oh no. Who’s condescending over coffee? Like, imagine gatekeeping bean water. Please don’t crush my dreams by being some quintessential trust fund douchebag. “Pretty sure, yeah. Fifteen minutes is a long wait, but not long enough for me to forget my order.”

“You ordered a piccolo?” he asks disbelievingly. 

My eyes narrow. “Is that a problem?”

He blinks a few times, the hazel in his gaze twinkling mischievously. “I’ve never heard anyone else order a piccolo around here.”

I flick my long, wavy hair over my shoulder. “I used to live in Australia. Now, can I have this?” 

Hamptons potential-asshole picks up the cup and hands it to me. “Sorry about that.” He flashes what seems like his most captivating grin. I have a sinking suspicion he has an arsenal of those. Right next to his collection of Swiss watches.
If this is what I think it is, it’ll simply…happen. 

Chapter 1

Only One Coffee

When two people are forced—by circumstance, caffeine shortages, fate, or an overworked barista—to accidentally share a coffee order, resulting in escalating tension and at least one prolonged stare over a cardboard cup sleeve. 

Often manifests through variations of the classic one bed trope (also known as one room, one horse, one tent, etc.).

Visual markers include lipstick on a plastic lid, steam rising into the air, and a pair of oversized sunglasses.

See Wayne Thiebaud. 

Sky

 
Two thoughts hit me at once: first, this is the last time I follow my best friend’s advice, which has previously included shroom-infused face lotion. The second is that I might be having a heart attack. 
I decide to circle back to the first thought later. Because all the blood in my body just rushed to my favorite swoony organ. Thump. So many thumps. 
I’m at one of those places where the line—more of a cluster, really—is the main attraction. Where the sure-to-be-subpar coffee, made to feel exclusive with a $15 price tag is almost beside the point. However, no one in the shop’s too-sceney-for-eight-in-the-morning collective manages to pull focus from the man responsible for my cardiac issues. Who looks like that this early on a weekday? Is that legal? Is that possible? Should someone check on the laws of physics?
I’m no stranger to rose-colored glasses. Some would say we’re family. (My real family, on the other hand, spent twenty-five years trying to replace them with practical gray ones. At this point, I think they’re simply relieved I haven’t succumbed to one of my self-inflicted coronaries.) But…not even the pink-tinted frames I just pushed up my nose could shield me from the fact that this is the sort of guy who has Monica slash Blonde from Surf Lodge and Lauren slash Brunette from Gurney’s in his contacts. I know I shouldn’t be staring. And I’m not, I swear. I just—
A woman in enormous black Céline sunnies bumps into me on her way out, gripping her matcha like it’s more human baby than seafoam green liquid. God bless her. She jostled me out of my stupor. 
Re: my first thought. If a café could have an affiliate link in bio, this one would. 
“Piccolo!” a barista calls out.
I roll the sleeve of my flowy dress in case the counter is dirty and reach for the cup. A masculine hand lands on it at the same time, causing mine to awkwardly entwine with his. My eyes move slowly upward, along the slightly wrinkled, beige linen sleeve of the man’s shirt until they rest on a very tan face about six or seven inches above my own. 
The din of the coffee shop fades, my heart stuttering. Is this—could this be what I think it is?
“I believe this is my drink,” he—the he*—*says, grinning lopsidedly and revealing a dimple on his left cheek.
“I believe this is my drink,” I correct him pleasantly, silently commanding myself to be cool.
The silky ristretto shot topped with steamed microfoam is the whole reason I decided to try this new place. It’s hard enough locating one in Manhattan, let alone East Hampton. 
That’s sort of the universe's thing, isn’t it? The more you want something, the more it insists on hiding it on the very last rack of a sample sale. Like it’s waiting to see if you’ll keep digging. My parents would say suffering is a prerequisite to success. Or, according to most Russian immigrants: Tuesday. And hey, if it doesn’t kill you, at least you have something to complain about in your Notes app. Not that waiting an extra ten minutes for artisanal brain fuel in a café where overpriced ceramic mugs line custom-designed floating oak shelves below a minimalist black menu board would normally put me in imminent danger. 
“You sure about that?” 
My head tilts. He almost sounds…condescending. Oh no. Who’s condescending over coffee? Like, imagine gatekeeping bean water. Please don’t crush my dreams by being some quintessential trust fund douchebag. “Pretty sure, yeah. Fifteen minutes is a long wait, but not long enough for me to forget my order.”
“You ordered a piccolo?” he asks disbelievingly. 
My eyes narrow. “Is that a problem?”
He blinks a few times, the hazel in his gaze twinkling mischievously. “I’ve never heard anyone else order a piccolo around here.”
I flick my long, wavy hair over my shoulder. “I used to live in Australia. Now, can I have this?” 
Hamptons potential-asshole picks up the cup and hands it to me.

“Sorry about that.” He flashes what seems like his most captivating grin. I have a sinking suspicion he has an arsenal of those. Right next to his collection of Swiss watches.
If this is what I think it is, it’ll simply…happen. 

Hi all! First time poster here (disclaimer: have done revisions with editor/as well as a few rounds in another reddit group)

Sky Belova dreams of turning her romance-centered book-cover art into a future her Russian immigrant parents can no longer call a phase and believes in love the way others do religion. Her summer residency could be the first brushstroke of her career, so going viral for defending the validity of romance novels to a handsome stranger is simply an embarrassing detour…until arriving at the residency and discovering he’s involved.

To wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s smug face, Sky bets she’ll get her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. He accepts; as the founder of a hookup app, the grumpy rich boy already built a fortune wagering against relationships. If Sky prevails, she doesn’t just find love but proves she isn’t living in the fantasy world everyone says she is. If not, Sky will publicly endorse Archer’s anti-romance app, turning virality into signups.

Except instead of I told you so, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters and even encourages the rose-colored mentality she’s spent her life defending to her family. But after Sky reboots the hope in Archer that he’d shut down years ago and their feud transforms into fun banter and five-chili-pepper-level attraction, she learns he’s been using her private dating life as social media fodder. While Archer attempts to engineer second chance into her next trope, Sky must decide whether the love stories she shaped her entire identity around belong in real life—or were only meant to exist in fiction.

Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 79,000-word annoyance-to-lovers romcom that combines the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy, the heartfelt search for magic in B.K. Borison’s First-Time Caller, and the comedic dating gauntlet of Voicemails for Isabelle. Given your interest in X

First 500:

Only One Coffee

When two people are forced—by circumstance, caffeine shortages, fate, or an overworked barista—to accidentally share a coffee order, resulting in escalating tension and at least one prolonged stare over a cardboard cup sleeve. 

Often manifests through variations of the classic one bed trope (also known as one room, one horse, one tent, etc.).

Visual markers include lipstick on a plastic lid, steam rising into the air, and a pair of oversized sunglasses.

See Wayne Thiebaud. 

Sky

 
Two thoughts hit me at once: first, this is the last time I follow my best friend’s advice, which has previously included shroom-infused face lotion. The second is that I might be having a heart attack. 
I decide to circle back to the first thought later. Because all the blood in my body just rushed to my favorite swoony organ. Thump. So many thumps. 
I’m at one of those places where the line—more of a cluster, really—is the main attraction. Where the sure-to-be-subpar coffee, made to feel exclusive with a $15 price tag is almost beside the point. However, no one in the shop’s too-sceney-for-eight-in-the-morning collective manages to pull focus from the man responsible for my cardiac issues. Who looks like that this early on a weekday? Is that legal? Is that possible? Should someone check on the laws of physics?
I’m no stranger to rose-colored glasses. Some would say we’re family. (My real family, on the other hand, spent twenty-five years trying to replace them with practical gray ones. At this point, I think they’re simply relieved I haven’t succumbed to one of my self-inflicted coronaries.) But…not even the pink-tinted frames I just pushed up my nose could shield me from the fact that this is the sort of guy who has Monica slash Blonde from Surf Lodge and Lauren slash Brunette from Gurney’s in his contacts. I know I shouldn’t be staring. And I’m not, I swear. I just—
A woman in enormous black Céline sunnies bumps into me on her way out, gripping her matcha like it’s more human baby than seafoam green liquid. God bless her. She jostled me out of my stupor. 
Re: my first thought. If a café could have an affiliate link in bio, this one would. 
“Piccolo!” a barista calls out.
I roll the sleeve of my flowy dress in case the counter is dirty and reach for the cup. A masculine hand lands on it at the same time, causing mine to awkwardly entwine with his. My eyes move slowly upward, along the slightly wrinkled, beige linen sleeve of the man’s shirt until they rest on a very tan face about six or seven inches above my own. 
The din of the coffee shop fades, my heart stuttering. Is this—could this be what I think it is?
“I believe this is my drink,” he—the he*—*says, grinning lopsidedly and revealing a dimple on his left cheek.
“I believe this is my drink,” I correct him pleasantly, silently commanding myself to be cool.

Hi all! Testing out multiple version of this letter to see what works best. Would love any and all feedback!

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova dreams of turning her romance-inspired art into a future her immigrant parents can no longer call a phase and believes in love the way others do religion. Her summer residency could be the first brushstroke of her career, so going viral for defending the validity of romance novels to a handsome stranger is simply an embarrassing detour…until arriving at the residency and discovering he’s the owner’s son.

To wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s smug face, Sky bets she’ll get her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. He accepts; as the founder of a hookup app, the grumpy rich boy already built a fortune wagering against relationships. If Sky prevails, she doesn’t just find love but proves she isn’t living in the fantasy world everyone says she is. If not, Sky will publicly endorse Archer’s anti-romance app, turning virality into signups.

Except instead of I told you so, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters and even encourages the rose-colored mentality she’s spent her life defending to her family. But right when Archer reboots the part of himself he’d shut down years ago, Sky learns he’s been using her private dating life as social media fodder, and he has to engineer second chance into her next trope. However, Sky must decide if the love stories she drew her identity around—personal and artistic—belong in real life or were only meant to exist in fiction.

Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 79,000-word annoyance-to-lovers romcom that combines the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy, the heartfelt search for magic in B.K. Borison’s First-Time Caller, and the comedic dating gauntlet of Voicemails for Isabelle. Given your interest in X

Rewrote my letter again before I send out my second batch of queries...I only had a 4-5% request rate on the first round (granted, I'm still waiting to hear back on over half the queries I sent, but the fast rejections made me nervous). Very grateful for any and all feedback!

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova dreams of illustrating best-selling romance book covers and believes in love the way others do religion. Her summer residency could be the first brushstroke of her career, so going viral for defending the validity of romance novels to a handsome stranger is simply an embarrassing detour…until arriving at the residency and discovering he’s heavily involved.

To wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s smug face, Sky bets the grumpy hookup app founder she’ll get her happily ever after by only dating men who embody her favorite tropes. Turns out they’re much less magical when translated to real-life men. Watching Sky’s romantic experiment implode should be satisfying for someone who’s been coding commitment out of existence. Instead, Archer finds himself rescuing her from disastrous dates and embraces the whimsical optimism she’s spent her life defending to her immigrant parents.

But soon after their rivalry transforms into fun banter and five-chili-pepper-level attraction, Sky learns Archer’s been using her private dating life as social media fodder for his anti-romance app, and he has to program second chance into her next trope. However, Sky must decide if the stories she drew her identity around belong off the page—or only work in fiction.

Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 79,000-word annoyance-to-lovers romcom that combines the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy, the heartfelt search for magic in B.K. Borison’s First-Time Caller, and the comedic dating gauntlet of Voicemails for Isabelle. Given your interest in X

First 300
Sky

Two thoughts simultaneously waltz through my head: first, this is the last time—the last time*—*I follow my best friend’s advice, which has previously included shroom-infused face lotion and a man named River. The second is that the Hamptons appear to have a hotness minimum. 
I casually, like so casually, lift my phone to ensure my forehead isn’t serving glazed-donut skin against my will. Naturally, the device betrays me, immediately blasting my color-coded home screen to full brightness the moment it registers my face. Fail. In turn, the first thought takes precedence. Because I’m at one of those places where the line—more of a cluster, really—is the main attraction. The sure-to-be-subpar coffee, made to feel exclusive with a $15 price tag, is almost beside the point. 
A woman in enormous Céline sunglasses nearly bumps into me on her way out, gripping her matcha protectively, like it’s more human baby than caffeinated seafoam green liquid—which, fair. I push my rose-tinted frames up my nose, pursing my lips as I continue impatiently waiting. To pass the time, I admire the ceramic mugs lining the floating oak shelves hanging below a minimalist black menu board behind the counter, its offerings written in crisp white lettering like a gallery placard.
“Piccolo!” a barista blessedly calls out.
I inhale a mix of expensive sunscreen and Diptyque candles before exhaling a cleansing breath. This concoction of espresso and silky steamed milk is the exact reason I decided to try this new shop against my better judgement (I think River would’ve liked it). It’s hard enough locating one in Manhattan, let alone East Hampton. That’s sort of the universe's thing, isn’t it? The more you want something, the more it insists on turning into a scavenger hunt.

Hi all! I stepped away for a bit to come back with fresh eyes and took time to work with an editor on my pitch package. Felt like it was in a great place! Sent out my first batch of queries...and got three rejections in three days. I am, obviously, spiraling. So, I went back and tweaked my query letter. I added a lot more voice (I know agents simply scan them to see if the pages are worth moving on to, but I did feel like more oomph could be beneficial). Looking forward to any and all feedback.

A hopeful romantic bets a grumpy cynic that happily ever afters exist beyond fiction, then sets out to find one by only dating men who embody romance’s favorite tropes. Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 77,000-word annoyance-to-lovers romcom that combines the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy, the search for magic of B.K. Borison’s First-Time Caller, and the comedic dating gauntlet of Voicemails for Isabelle. Given your interest in X

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova dreams of illustrating best-selling romance book covers and believes in love the way others do religion. Her summer residency could be the first brushstroke of her career, so going viral for defending the validity of romance novels to a handsome stranger is simply an embarrassing detour…until arriving at the residency and discovering he’s heavily involved.

Archer Callahan’s face might be a work of art, but the smug smirk needs to go. So Sky bets she’ll get her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. He accepts; as the founder of a hookup app, the grumpy rich boy has already started coding commitment out of existence. If Sky prevails, she doesn’t just find love, but proves her whimsical worldview isn’t mere fantasy. If not, Sky will publicly endorse Archer’s anti-romance app, turning virality into signups.

Except instead of I told you so, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters and even encourages the rose-colored mentality she’s spent her life defending to her immigrant parents. But soon after their rivalry transforms into fun banter and five-chili-pepper-level attraction, Sky learns Archer’s been using her private dating life as social fodder, and he has to program second chance into her next trope. However, Sky must decide if the stories she drew her identity around belong off the page—or only work in fiction.

First 300 words:

Chapter 1

Only One Coffee

When two people are forced—by circumstance, caffeine shortages, fate, or an overworked barista—to accidentally share a coffee order, resulting in escalating tension and at least one prolonged stare over a cardboard cup sleeve. 

Often manifests through variations of the classic one bed trope (also known as one room, one horse, one tent, etc.).

Visual markers include lipstick on a plastic lid, steam rising into the air, and a pair of oversized sunglasses.

See Wayne Thiebaud. 

Sky 

 
Two thoughts simultaneously run through my head: first, this is the last time—the last time*—*I follow my best friend’s hot and trendy recommendations, which have previously included shroom-infused lip balm and a man named River. The second is that the Hamptons population seems to have a hotness minimum. 

I, as subtly as possible, lift my phone to ensure my forehead isn’t reflecting light like a laminated menu. Except, the device refuses to cooperate, immediately brightening to my home screen the moment it registers my face. Which, in turn, causes the first thought to take precedence. Because I’m not even in a line; I’m in a cluster. No, I’m in a social experiment disguised as caffeine distribution. How long can we get people to wait for subpar coffee by making it feel exclusive with a $15 price tag?

The air is thick with expensive sunscreen, cold brew, and Diptyque candles. If I’m stuck waiting this long, at least whatever I’m breathing in is pleasant. Actually…I take a few sniffs. Yup, thought so. It’s Cyprès. I just bought a medium-sized candle of the same high-summer afternoon scent, captured in wax myself. Not exactly the frugal I swore I’d be.

Hey all! Just getting all my query materials ready and would love feedback.

ONE PARAGRAPH

When aspiring book-cover artist Sky Belova goes viral arguing that love exists outside fiction, she never expects to run into her debate opponent again—let alone discover he’s Archer Callahan, the cynical hookup-app founder whose family runs the prestigious Hamptons arts residency she landed a spot at this summer. Determined to wipe the smirk off his face, Sky bets she’ll get her happily ever after by dating men who fit her favorite romance tropes. As every would-be hero fails spectacularly (like the age-gap zaddy who mistakes envelopes of cash for foreplay), Sky finds herself getting closer to Archer, the self-proclaimed anti-hero. But she can’t fall for a man who’s built a fortune wagering against love…can she?

AUDIENCE

Fans of Lynn Painter, Christina Lauren, Katherine Center, Annabel Monaghan, and lovers of early 2000s romcoms.

A hopeful romantic book-cover artist bets a cynical hookup-app founder that happily ever afters exist beyond fiction, then sets out to find one by dating men who embody romance’s favorite tropes—only to learn love doesn’t follow a manuscript. Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 77,000 word annoyance-to-lovers romcom, in which the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy meets the dating trials of B.K. Borrison’s First-Time Caller with early 2000s romcom vibes. Given your interest in X

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova dreams of illustrating romance book covers, thinks every great outfit deserves a meet-cute, and believes in love the way others do religion. When she’s accepted into the Callahan Arts Foundation’s summer residency, a chance to finally launch her career, going viral for arguing with a handsome stranger about whether love exists in real life or only fiction is merely an embarrassing detour. Until arriving at the foundation’s Hamptons estate and discovering he’s the owner’s son.

To wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s smug face, Sky bets she’ll find her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. He accepts; as the founder of a hookup app, the grumpy rich boy already built a fortune wagering against relationships. If Sky succeeds, she finds love and proves it exists off the page. If not, Sky will publicly endorse Archer’s anti-romance app, turning virality into signups…success is his kind of happy ending.

But instead of I told you so, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters (like the age-gap zaddy, who equates envelopes of cash to foreplay) and even encourages the rose-colored mentality Sky’s spent her life defending to her immigrant parents. In turn, he starts trying to decode his issues with love, transforming their rivalry into fun banter and undeniable attraction. Except after Sky learns Archer’s been using her private dating life as social fodder, he has to program second chance into her next trope. However, Sky must decide if the stories she drew her identity around are still worth believing in.

A hopeful romantic book-cover artist bets a cynical hookup-app founder that happily ever afters exist beyond fiction, then sets out to find one by dating men who embody romance’s favorite tropes—only to learn love doesn’t follow a manuscript. Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 77,000 word annoyance-to-lovers romcom, in which the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy meets the dating trials of B.K. Borrison’s First-Time Caller with early 2000s romcom vibes. Given your interest in X

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova dreams of illustrating romance book covers (the artist owns more romance novels than practical shoes) and believes in love the way others do religion. When she’s accepted into the Callahan Arts Foundation’s summer residency, a chance to launch her career, going viral for arguing with a handsome stranger about whether love exists in real life or only fiction is merely an embarrassing detour. Until arriving at the foundation’s Hamptons estate and discovering he’s the owner’s son.

To wipe the smirk off Archer Callahan’s smug face, Sky bets she’ll find her happily ever after by filtering potential suitors through her favorite tropes. He accepts; as the founder of a hookup app, the grumpy rich boy already built a fortune wagering against relationships. If Sky succeeds, she finds love and proves it exists off the page. If not, Sky will publicly endorse Archer’s anti-romance app, turning virality into signups…success is his kind of happy ending.

But instead of I told you so, Archer soothes Sky’s dating disasters (like the age-gap zaddy, who equates financial agreements to courtship) and unexpectedly accepts the rose-colored mentality Sky’s spent her life defending to her immigrant parents. In turn, he starts trying to decode his issues with love, transforming their rivalry into fun banter and undeniable attraction. Except after Sky learns Archer’s been using her dating life as social fodder, he has to program second chance into her next trope. However, Sky must decide if the stories she drew her identity around are still worth believing in.

Sky Belova (25) believes in love the way some people believe in religion. A first-generation Russian American and aspiring romance book-cover illustrator, she’s spent her life defending her impractical, rose-colored mentality while secretly pretending to her strict parents that she has a stable marketing career and an engineer boyfriend. When she’s accepted into the Callahan Arts Foundation’s summer residency in the Hamptons, she sees a chance to finally turn her artistic dreams into reality.

On her first day, Sky gets into a viral argument with a handsome stranger over whether love belongs in real life or only in fiction. She soon discovers he’s none other than Archer Callahan (25), the foundation owner’s son and founder of a wildly successful hookup app. While Sky is a hopeful romantic, Archer built a business around the idea that modern relationships are doomed.

Unable to avoid each other at the foundation’s sprawling Sag Harbor estate, Sky and Archer make a bet: She’ll prove happily ever afters exist outside of books by dating her way through real life versions of romance’s most iconic tropes. But…the neighbor-to-lover turns out to be a misogynist. The workplace romance is secretly married. The age-gap billionaire mistakes financial agreements for courtship. With every failed date, Sky finds herself spending more time with Archer—and enjoying it.

As their rivalry gives way to friendship, banter, and undeniable attraction, Sky realizes Archer isn’t the person she needs validation from. And for such a grumpy rich boy, he embraces the whimsical side of her that she’s spent years justifying. Meanwhile, Archer finds himself falling for everything he’s spent life dismissing: hope, vulnerability, and the possibility that love might actually be worth the risk.

Archer eventually confesses the experiences that turned him against romance, from growing up with parents in a business-deal of a marriage to losing his relationship with his brother over his girlfriend’s betrayal that fractured their family. In addition to his past trauma, the borderline savage messages he sees sent on his app have disillusioned love for him. Now, for the first time, he’s allowing himself to believe in something more. Except just as Sky begins to trust him, she discovers he’s been using her dating experiment and their private conversations to generate attention for his app.

Heartbroken, Sky ends things and, after constantly being put down for living in a fantasy world, finally stops seeking permission to be herself. She comes clean to her parents about pursuing art and risks her standing within the foundation for choosing authenticity over being the creative they want to mold her into. Sky ends up losing her spot but feels like, overall, she won.

Determined to get her back, Archer goes Live on his app’s social, publicly admitting he’s spent years protecting himself from disappointment by reducing every relationship to a transaction. During his grand gesture broadcast, he shares real stories of connection from his app’s users—the ones he didn’t think existed—and acknowledges that hope still exists if you’re willing to look for it. Archer earns a second chance, not only with Sky, but with the family he’s spent years pushing away.

Hi X,

A hopeful romantic book-cover artist bets a cynical hookup-app founder that happily ever afters exist outside fiction, then sets out to find one by dating men who embody romance’s favorite tropes—only to learn love doesn’t follow a manuscript. Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 77,000 word annoyance-to-lovers romcom, in which the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy meets the dating trials of B.K. Borrison’s First-Time Caller with early 2000s romcom vibes. Given your interest in X

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova illustrates romance book covers, treats sample-sales like a competitive sport, and believes in love the way others do religion. When accepted into the Callahan Arts Foundation's summer residency, an opportunity that could finally launch her career, a viral argument with a handsome stranger about whether love belongs in real life or only in fiction seems like little more than an embarrassing detour. Until she arrives at the residency’s Hamptons property and discovers the stranger is Archer Callahan, the foundation owner’s son.

Sky bets Archer she’ll find her happily ever after dating her way through romance’s most iconic storylines: forced proximity, workplace romance, age gap, and every other favorite trope. As the creator of a popular hookup app, the grumpy rich boy has built a fortune betting against relationships. Certain her experiment will prove him right, Archer looks forward to turning their virality into content that grows his app. (Success is his kind of happy ending.)

Post-dating-disaster introspection leads Sky to realize Archer isn’t who she needed to validify her rose-colored lifestyle for. And when he’s unexpectedly accepting of the whimsy her immigrant parents never understood, maintaining distance is impossible—though their beliefs don’t align. Meanwhile, Archer can no longer ignore she’s everything he's spent life dismissing in the name of self-preservation…and everything he now wants. Except after Sky learns he's been using her dating life as social fodder, Archer has to decode his issues with love and program second chance into her next trope. But before falling head-over-discounted-designer-heels, Sky must decide if the stories she drew her identity around are still worth chasing.

Hi all! Feedback from first round was so helpful. I changed up the entire query, hopefully it's clearer.

Told in dual POV, HEARTWORK is a 77,000 word annoyance-to-lovers romcom, in which the meta romance of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy meets the dating trials of B.K. Borrison’s First-Time Caller with Clueless vibes. Given your interest in X

First-generation Russian American Sky Belova has two dreams—succeed as a romance book cover artist and fall headfirst, in designer heels, into a happily ever after. For now, a spot in the Callahan Arts Foundation means destiny one is calling, and it sounds like connections, resources, and studio space she otherwise couldn’t afford on its Hamptons estate.

But the 25-year-old hopeful romantic’s first day is more disaster than masterpiece after jaded 26-year-old Archer Callahan, the foundation owner’s frustratingly handsome son (unbeknownst to Sky), grabs her coffee order. The hookup app founder would rather cut his tailored-sleeves off than admit he has a heart. No wonder their meet-cute turns into a pro vs. anti-love argument…caught on camera.

Its virality leads Vogue’s Love Stories to pitch Sky. She’ll date based on popular tropes, putting the validity of romance books to the test. Three birds, one hot trope summer: Sky shows Archer the love she reads and illustrates isn’t mere lore, grows her followers (potential clients), and even finds the one. Except press while at the foundation isn’t allowed. Archer swears to secrecy if Sky gives him the full download on her (sure-to-be disastrous) dates, believing he’ll prove her wrong.

Sky’s blue-sky mentality inspires Archer to decode his issues with love, and the grumpy rich boy is unexpectedly sweet and accepting of the whimsy her immigrant parents never understood. But when she learns their private conversations were used as social fodder for his anti-love app’s internet-momentum, inadvertently informing the foundation of the press Sky is doing, Archer has to figure out how to program second-chance into her next trope. Meanwhile Sky must decide if drawing up her own rules is worth losing her funding.

Hi (name),

Told in dual POV, THE ART OF ROMANCE is a 75,000 word romantic comedy, in which the romance-book-obsession of Iman Hariri-Kia’s Female Fantasy meets the sponsored-date-setup of B.K. Borrison’s First-Time Caller. Given your interest in X

First-generation American Sky Belova is a fashionista artist with extra heart for creating romance-covers—she craves the fairytale her practical Russian-immigrant parents deemed unrealistic. After the love-lover goes viral for arguing with a love-naysayer, her Vogue-editor-best-friend suggests an article that would capitalize on Sky’s internet-fame and get her work into the spotlight. The pitch: turn Sky’s upcoming Hamptons season into a hot trope summer, styling her while she dates guys based on the art of the romance book.

Sky’s love-Scrooge of a co-star, Archer Callahan, is so anti-romance he started Widr, the opposite of a dating app that encourages, ahem, short*-*term connection. The grumpy, rich boy might find Sky and her blue-sky-mentality reluctantly charming, but he’s determined to double down on one-night-only-happily-ever-afters by following his publicist’s plan to play into the app’s momentum in the media…even if Sky is collateral damage.

By a twist of the fate Archer doesn’t believe in, Sky’s in the Hamptons because she’s working for his philanthropic mother’s arts foundation, living on his family’s estate. So after every nightmare-of-a-date the hopeless romantic goes on, the jaded and frustratingly handsome founder always happens to be there to pick up the pieces. Between rescue missions, car rides from NYC out east, and dive-bar reprieves from her men-in-tropes, Sky makes Archer want to confront the fears that made him give up on love. But if he can restart with a blank canvas, is Sky willing to give the second-chance trope a try after learning he used their private conversations as Widr social fodder?