When The Harvest Comes Tells A Story Of Chosen Family & Artistic Ambition

Davis’ journey to true, lasting queer love has been a fraught one. Raised as the son of a reverend, his father ruled over the house with a temper and the fervent belief that his Black son would never lay with another man. But now, decades later, Davis is set to marry the love of his life: a kind WASP named Everett... if the news of his estranged father’s death — and the unspoken childhood trauma it resurfaces — doesn’t threaten to unravel Davis’ well-earned happiness.

Below, in an exclusive excerpt from When the Harvest Comes (out now), we find Davis and Everett on their first date — and falling deeply and madly in love.

Three years before, on a humid Saturday afternoon in early August, Davis and Everett ran into each other, literally bumped into each other, in Central Park. Everett walking Bam-Bam, Davis running after a Frisbee he was never going to catch and falling into him.

“I know you,” Everett had said as he pulled Davis to his feet. “The gym?”

“I don’t go to the gym,” Davis said.

“Gym Bar, then.”

Davis shook his head. “No. The Chamber Music Society?”

Everett snorted his laughter. “Definitely not.”

They ditched their friends, fingertips brushing as they walked through Central Park, Everett naming venues and places and parties, and even people they might have had in common.

“Let’s get food,” Everett said. “I’m hungry. You’re hungry.” They’d found a little café in Hell’s Kitchen, laughed and joked through happy hour, feet continuously bumping into each other under the tiny table for two. They weren’t far from Davis’s apartment, he learned as he was wrapping up with the check.

“You’re a college senior who has your own apartment?” Everett had been impressed as they sauntered up close to Lincoln Center.

“Trust me, it’s nothing impressive. It’s one of those old Upper West Side tenement buildings. I’m incredibly lucky to have my own bathroom.” Davis, contemplative, had looked away then, across the street at a bar.

“Stop for a drink?” Everett asked.

“No. Come home with me. I have booze; you like gin martinis?”

Everett nodded. He’d never been with someone who seemed so singsong, so childlike, and yet so precocious. Davis pulled him into a kiss then. A few feet away, a group of teenage girls sharing fast food started whooping and whistling.

Davis blushed. “Come on,” he said, pulling Everett along. Everett placed his right hand on the small of Davis’s back. Like that, they walked.

“I’d never have been able to rent my own apartment when I was a college senior.”

“You would’ve if you’d had to.” Davis had kept his eyes straight ahead, as if he was unsure of where they were going. They enjoyed the sounds of the city as they moved — the horns honking, the voices laughing, the clatter of footsteps as they were passed by a large group of tourists taking pictures.

They walked for 20 minutes. Davis led the way hurriedly up to apartment 15G, turned his key in two separate locks, and gave the door a nudge with his shoulder. When they entered, Davis pointed Everett to the bathroom, then the bedroom while he went to the kitchen to make the drinks. The room was shockingly bright, yellow sunlight pouring in through a crack in the blue linen curtains.

“Feel free to turn on the AC. There’s a remote on the bedside table!”

Everett kicked off his shoes, tucking them close to the bedroom door. He turned on the AC, then considered taking off his shirt. He didn’t want to be aggressive. Davis seemed delicate; better to let him take the lead.

When he came in with the drinks, he set them down on the bedside table, then walked right up to Everett and slid his hands behind Everett’s neck. Standing on his tiptoes, he pulled him into a soft, gentle kiss. “You’re a good guy, Everett. I can tell.”

Everett felt a bit miscast; his most recent ex had screamed at him that he was a scoundrel. “How can you tell?” He lowered his hands and cupped Davis’s ass: denim booty shorts, fringe lining the bottom. He knew exactly who this was.

“I figured it out. We met a year ago, right?”

“Pieces,” they said in unison.

“Some guy had me cornered. I believe you came to my rescue.”

Everett smiled, kissing Davis back, and guided him toward the bed. “I believe I did.”

Davis winked, ever the flirt. “A girl likes that from time to time, you know. Being rescued.”

Everett laughed. “I aim to please.” He continued to kiss Davis, gently pushing him back onto his bed. A diagonal beam of light fluttered against his skin.

“I want you naked.” He climbed on top of Davis then, and kissed him all over his face, his neck, down his body. He pulled Davis’s shirt up and over his head, his hair, tossing it to the floor. Everywhere he put his hands, he found skin soft as butter and smelling of honey. When he commented, Davis nodded and said, “Smells good?”

“Feels even better.” Everett’s every touch, whether gentle or firm, brought with it some new kind of sound from Davis, and after several minutes in which all clothes were tossed aside, Everett understood he needed to be sedate about the whole thing.

They were kissing, Davis’s head against the pillow, his locs splayed in the shape of a Japanese fan. Everett was perched above him, his hands flat against the mattress next to Davis’s shoulders. Davis pulled his lips away, placed an open palm against Everett’s chest, a look of concern flashing across his face. Everett stared at him.

An hour later they woke, moving with the quiet intimacy of two already living as one. Everett stood on one side of the bed, in the spot that he understood, somehow, was his.

“You’re nervous,” he said after a moment.

“No,” Davis said, though he nodded, his head bobbing up and down. When Everett said nothing, Davis looked toward the window before turning back to him. He mumbled a confession. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but this is . . . kind of my first time.”

“Should I stop?”

They stared at each other. Everett heard, twice, the second hand of the wall clock.

“No,” Davis said. “Please don’t stop.”

Afterward Everett leaned upright, his back against the headboard, his arm around Davis’s shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a virgin; once he’d turned 30, he’d forgotten they existed. With his middle finger Everett traced hundreds of tiny circles in the smooth skin of Davis’s shoulder. Under the sunlight that was beginning to fade, the last of Davis’s boyhood had revealed itself to Everett and vanished. Davis slept against him now, a relaxed and satisfied smile newly visible.

An hour later they woke, moving with the quiet intimacy of two already living as one. Everett stood on one side of the bed, in the spot that he understood, somehow, was his. Davis, who had opened the curtains, stood on the other side by the window. Manhattan, swathed in pinks, purples, and reds of dusk, smiled over them, and staring at Davis, Everett was mesmerized — Davis’s honey-colored skin seemed to glow as he bent to put on a pair of boxer shorts. Everett pulled his undershirt over his head. Davis moved toward him, then behind him, slipping his feet into a pair of mud brown flip-flops.

“Hungry?” Davis asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked out of the room. The smacking of his sandals against the soles of his feet echoed as he walked to the kitchen. Everett followed, shaking his head.

“I have to go,” Everett said. He stood in the entrance, leaning with his forearm against the top of the doorframe. The kitchen was microscopic. There was no counter space to speak of. Davis bent in front of the refrigerator, pulling out blocks of cheese, a pack of prosciutto, and a jar of pitless olives. He placed them on the kitchen table, really a rectangular hall table that was no more than a foot in width, and stood against the wall. There were three transparent plastic placemats, decorated with images of sunflowers.

“No you don’t,” Davis said. He remained stooped, his head practically in the refrigerator.

“I do,” Everett stepped into the kitchen, feeling like a giant. “Bam-Bam.” He put his finger to his chin, thinking, then gently put his hands around Davis’s waist. Davis stood, then turned toward Everett. “Who?”

“My dog. I have to go home to feed and walk my dog.” Everett smiled sheepishly.

“Oh,” Davis said. “I love dogs.” He stood up and closed the refrigerator. “You named your dog Bam-Bam?” He wrinkled his brow.

“Hey, I think it’s cute!” Everett laughed, then glanced down at his feet.

Davis gestured toward the table. “At least let me send you home with some cheese.” He paused again. “Camembert? Aged Gouda?”

Everett smiled, then took a step closer to Davis. He shook his head. When Davis started to protest, Everett quietly shushed him. “If you send me home with cheese my dog will almost definitely get into it. You wouldn’t want poor Bam-Bam to sh*t all over my apartment, would you?” He kissed the top of Davis’s head. Davis turned around, opened the refrigerator again, and returned the cheese, meat, and olives. When he was done, Everett stepped out of the kitchen, was about to say goodbye, when a new idea occurred to him. “Come back to my place. Meet him. Spend the night.”

It was as simple as that, an invitation, his hand extended behind him, Davis grabbing it, nodding, slipping past him, somehow leading the way to a destination he had no knowledge of.

Everett found it charming.

Excerpted from When the Harvest Comes by Denne Michele Norris. Copyright © 2025 by Denne Michele Norris. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.