FRAMED, page 8
Jo hesitated for a moment before answering.
“Well,” she said, crunching on a chip to buy herself time, “I’ve been dating someone—her name is Kate—for seven months now. She’s young, mid-twenties.” She saw no judgment in Tori’s expression, only curiosity, and continued. “She was a medic in the Navy and is now studying biology after her discharge. She’s easy to be with—no drama—and often makes me laugh.” Jo added, almost as an afterthought, “We have great chemistry in bed.”
Tori shot her a curious look.
“Has she moved in? Is it serious?”
“Well, no U-Haul has shown up at my townhouse yet,” Jo said with a chuckle before popping another chip into her mouth. “Not that I’m a good catch for anything long-term—I’m too much of a workaholic.”
“Au contraire!” Tori exclaimed, leaning forward with sudden energy. “You’re an excellent catch!”
Jo’s smile faltered for just a second before she recovered. I wish you’d thought so in college. What she said aloud was, “Thanks. You’re sweet.”
Tori tilted her head. Her voice softened again as she asked, “What does Kate look like?”
“She’s exquisite,” she began, savoring the memory as she spoke. “Her mom was half-Cherokee; her dad was from Yugoslavia. High cheekbones, long, dark hair that falls to the middle of her back, and tawny-colored eyes. They’re beautiful. Hard to describe.” She chuckled, delighting in describing her lover. “She’s an athlete too. Moves like a cat.”
Tori’s smile encouraged her to continue.
“A couple of months ago, she won a sailboard in a lottery and insisted we take it to a nearby lake. She pulled up the sail as if it were nothing and glided smoothly across the water.” The admiration in Jo’s expression turned suddenly to laughter. “When I tried? It took me forever to stand up on the thing. And then I fell right into someone’s fishing line before I even got moving.”
She expected Tori to join her amusement but noticed her expression had shifted—her face pensive, almost wistful.
“She sounds lovely,” Tori said, her voice tinged with sadness. She turned her head away.
Jo frowned. Have I been insensitive? She set the bag of chips on the coffee table and let a few beats pass before saying, carefully, “I love Kate. But she’s young and in a completely different phase of life.” Her voice dropped lower as if she were admitting something aloud for the first time. “I’m giving it more time before making any commitments.”
Something flickered across Tori’s face—an emotion Jo couldn’t quite name—and for a moment, it appeared she might say something more.
They jumped as the doorbell rang.
“Pizza!” cried Jo. Grateful for the interruption, she shot up from the couch as if it were on fire and headed for the door.
When she returned with the pizza, Jo forced herself into cheerful efficiency, setting the plates and napkins on the coffee table and refilling their drinks. As if sheer activity could erase whatever had just passed between them.
Chapter 15
That night, Tori awoke with a start as Orange Cat padded across her chest and curled up close against her ribs. Once disturbed, sleep refused to return, leaving her mind to wander through dangerous territory. Jo’s face materialized in the darkness—that radiant smile, those expressive dark eyes that danced above high, elegant cheekbones. Jo, her protector. Jo, her rock. Jo, the woman who had unknowingly claimed a piece of her heart years ago.
A familiar ache spread through her. Her feelings for Jo had always transcended ordinary friendship, though she’d spent years pretending otherwise. Jo’s closeness over the past few days reminded her of the pain of her loss.
For years, Tori had constructed her life around predictability and conformity. College had been particularly torturous, with Jo’s constant presence igniting feelings Tori refused to acknowledge. The prospect of stepping beyond the carefully drawn lines of her existence paralyzed her. So, she’d buried those emotions deep, allowing them to surface only in fleeting moments—a lingering glance, a brush of fingers, a hug held a few seconds too long.
Her conservative upbringing loomed like a shadow, the specter of family rejection too terrifying to confront. Instead, she’d channeled her energy toward men, relationships that society deemed proper, but never ignited the same fire within her. Her marriage to Rick was the unfortunate result, a mistake that had wounded them both.
Tori’s awareness of her attraction to women, which had begun with Jo, blossomed into an undeniable truth about herself. Now in her mid-thirties, Tori studied women at the gym with a new boldness. She admired the curve of a hip or the grace of movement—not out of envy, but with desire. Sometimes, she caught women returning her gaze with eyes that mirrored her own hidden hunger.
And then she met Jude at the country-western bar last spring. Jude, with her captivating green eyes, laughing, and tossing her auburn hair back, gazed at Tori over the rim of her wineglass.
The Lodge had become Tori’s sanctuary when she first ventured there in early March, seeking refuge from the suffocating tension at home. She’d embraced line dancing, finding unexpected joy in the synchronous movement. A group of women always gathered near the wooden dance floor, their easy camaraderie and laughter drawing Tori’s attention. They rarely partnered with men, preferring to dance the Texas two-step with each other.
Tori was astonished when one of them—a stocky blonde with mischievous eyes and an impish grin—approached her one evening, hand extended in invitation.
“Care to dance?” the woman had asked.
Alarm shot through her, quickly followed by excitement that made her spine tingle. She’d never dared to slow dance with a woman before, but something compelled her to accept. The woman—named Belinda, she learned later—led with confidence despite her shorter stature. After several stumbles, Tori moved in perfect harmony with her partner, swept up in the current of the dance.
“Why don’t you join us?” Belinda had suggested afterwards. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
Grateful for the invitation, Tori followed her to a table where several women warmly welcomed her. That was when she first locked eyes with Jude—tall, lithe Jude, whose graceful movements on the dance floor had captivated her from afar.
Tori returned to The Lodge as often as possible, especially on weekends when Jude would most likely be there. She integrated herself into the women’s group, learning new dances and occasionally partnering with one of the women at the table or a friendly man. Yet, while the group’s lively chatter and shared laughter filled her evenings with joy, her focus always drifted to Jude—the quiet magnetism of her presence drawing her attention like no other.
The first time Jude asked her to dance, Tori nearly forgot how to breathe. Jude’s hand pressed firmly against her back, drawing her close enough that she was certain Jude could feel her thundering heartbeat. She avoided those intense green eyes, afraid her legs might give way beneath her. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when she accidentally stumbled and stepped on Jude’s foot.
Jude had pulled back, her lips curving into a smile. “Relax,” she’d murmured, her voice low and intimate. “Just let me guide you and don’t think about your feet.”
Though her feet were the least of her concerns, Tori forced herself to take several deep breaths, willing her body to surrender to Jude’s lead.
Many dances followed, but just as often, they sat out the music, lost in conversation. Jude possessed a sharp intellect and perceptiveness that matched her physical grace. Her Boston accent revealed her New England roots. She was pleased to learn Tori knew Boston from college days. They discovered they shared views on politics and environmental issues. Jude’s irreverent humor often left Tori laughing until her sides ached.
Tori carefully avoided asking about Jude’s profession or what had brought her to Houston, fearing she’d be asked the same questions in return. At The Lodge, she wanted to be just Tori, not Dr. Nelson with all the expectations and responsibilities that title carried. In this sanctuary of pulsing music and swirling bodies, she had found freedom she wasn’t ready to compromise.
In the first few weeks, Tori moved through those evenings with ease, laughing, chatting, and bantering with the women in the group. She danced with others, but her awareness of Jude was constant, like a low hum in her chest. Jude’s gaze lingered on her, and Tori felt it as surely as a touch. It thrilled her but also unsettled her in ways she was finally daring to name. By mid-April, the truth she’d been avoiding could no longer be ignored. She was wildly attracted to Jude. Her marriage to Rick was a hollow shell. She filed for divorce, and they separated.
Until then, she only saw Jude at The Lodge, where their chemistry had become impossible to hide. Others noticed, and one night, as Tori and Jude sat close, heads nearly touching in conversation, Belinda smirked at them from across the table. “Why don’t you two go somewhere private and get on with it?” she teased before heading to the dance floor with the others.
When they were alone at the table, Jude leaned forward conspiratorially. “Shall we?”
The casual invitation sent Tori’s heart into overdrive. She nearly choked on her beer but managed to nod. Her pulse raced as she followed Jude out to the lot where their cars were parked under the glow of a flickering streetlight. Jude stopped beside her camper van. “Would you like to follow me home? I’m just a mile from here.”
Tori nodded again, words failing her. Jude stepped closer, lifting Tori’s chin with gentle fingers before leaning in. The kiss was soft at first—tentative—but it ignited something deep within Tori. Her knees wobbled as she clung to Jude’s neck and kissed her back with an urgency that startled her. When they finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, Jude opened the camper van door and drew her inside.
Tori responded to Jude’s kisses and touch with an intensity she hadn’t known she possessed. A few minutes later, it took every ounce of willpower to pull herself away long enough to follow Jude’s van home. But once there, the night unfolded in ways that left no room for doubt. She was head-over-heels in lust.
*
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as Tori and Jude sat at an old wooden table sipping coffee. Tori felt weightless—dreamy—but eventually, she felt the tug of reality.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” She set her mug down and caught Jude’s eye to be sure she was listening. “I didn’t mention it before because it didn’t matter. But,” she ran her fingertip over the mug handle, “I’m married.” She rushed on before Jude could react. “We’ve separated, and I’ve filed for divorce.”
Jude’s face broke into a slow grin. “Yeah,” she said. “I kinda figured.”
Tori blinked in surprise. “How?”
“You had a ring on when we first met,” Jude said with a slight shrug. “Then later, you didn’t.”
Tori chuckled despite herself. “Of course.”
“More coffee?” Jude picked up both mugs and poured refills at the counter.
Tori let her eyes run over her muscular back and down. Her attention was diverted by a pair of steel-toed boots by the wall and heavy-duty overalls hanging above them. She wondered who they belonged to.
Jude returned to the table.
“There’s more,” said Tori. “I’m also a medical doctor specializing in occupational and environmental medicine.” She studied Jude’s face for a reaction but found only curiosity. “At The Lodge,” she continued, “I just wanted to be Tori. No titles.”
Jude tilted her head. “Interesting,” she said with a grin. “That explains why you have such strong opinions about the environment and health.”
Tori regarded her over the rim of her coffee cup. “Now that I’ve shown you mine,” she teased, “show me yours. What do you do? And whose are those steel-toed boots?”
Jude’s eyes sparkled as she leaned forward with an impish grin. “Oh yeah, they’re mine,” she said. “I’m an industrial hygienist . . . for World Petrol.”
Tori froze mid-sip. She barely avoided choking on her coffee.
Jude continued to smile. “Looks like we have quite a bit in common.”
“From opposite ends of the spectrum,” Tori murmured dryly.
Jude shrugged with the easy confidence that made Tori’s heart skip.
“Maybe not,” she said.
And just like that, Tori realized this was the beginning of something far more complicated and exciting than she’d ever imagined possible.
Chapter 16
Tuesday morning, Jo threw herself into work, tethered to the phone and fax machine as she wrangled with her office in DC. The federal appeals court had demanded more paperwork to justify her firm’s appeal in a train spill case, and the back and forth with her paralegal had been relentless. When she was satisfied with the final draft, her head was pounding, and she was ready for a break. She leaned against the banister at the bottom of the stairs and called Tori, who was holed up in her office working on her MD Anderson presentation.
“Hey, Tori, it’s time for lunch. Shall I whip up a salad?”
Tori appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression tight and drawn. Jo’s stomach sank upon seeing those familiar worry lines on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Jo asked.
Tori gripped the railing as though it might steady her. “I’ve been on the phone with the Texas Medical Board,” she said. “They’re allowing me to return to clinical practice for now—even though I was arrested for a federal crime—but they’re launching their own investigation. They could suspend my medical license.”
Jo frowned, her lawyer instincts kicking in. “But surely not if the grand jury fails to indict you. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll know more later this week.”
Tori didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know how I’ll face everyone at the clinic or the university if I’m indicted,” she admitted. “Only one or two colleagues have reached out in support. Most of them, nothing. Just silence.”
“They’re probably as stunned as I was,” Jo said gently. She could only imagine what Tori was going through—her life unraveling piece by piece: a divorce, an arrest that defied logic, her career and research hanging by a thread. Tori needed something, anything, to pull her out of this spiral.
“Look,” Jo said. “Stop worrying about what you can’t control, right now. You can’t predict your life beyond this week. Let’s distract ourselves in the meantime with something fun.”
Tori hesitated, then sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” She slowly descended the stairs, and together they headed to the kitchen to prepare lunch.
At the table, Tori lingered, fingering her napkin before glancing up at Jo, shyly. “Well,” she began hesitantly, “I enjoy dancing.”
Jo blinked. “Really?” She couldn’t recall Tori being much of a dancer in college—unlike her, who used to live for Friday nights on crowded dance floors. “Where would you want to go?”
“There’s this country-western bar downtown.” Tori’s face brightened, and her blue eyes sparkled. “It’s in this old building with high ceilings and a massive wooden dance floor. They teach line dancing at seven before it gets too crowded.”
Jo gave her a sidelong look. “You know I love to dance,” she said cautiously, “but I don’t go to straight bars and dance with men.” She bit back a sigh. What was wrong with her? This wasn’t about her. It should be what Tori wanted.
Tori gave a small laugh. “You don’t have to,” she assured her. “About every third dance is a line dance—no partners required—and nobody cares if two women dance together.”
Jo tilted her head, studying Tori thoughtfully. Dance with Tori? The image sent an unexpected flicker of heat through her, but she shoved it aside. If dancing could make Tori smile again, then that’s all that mattered.
“I’ve got an extra pair of cowboy boots that are too big for me,” Tori added with a grin. “And a western shirt that might fit you.”
Jo smiled, despite herself. “Well, then,” she said lightly, “looks like I’m going line dancing tonight.”
*
Just before seven that evening, Jo pushed open the heavy wooden doors of The Lodge, her borrowed boots scuffing against the worn planks of the entryway. Tori followed right behind her. The place smelled of sawdust and spilled beer.
Jo glanced around at the rustic interior—the vast wooden dance floor gleaming under dim lights, clusters of tables surrounded by mismatched chairs, and two bars buzzing with activity. “Baby’s Got Her Blue Jeans On” thumped through the surround-sound system, and Tori, vibrating with excitement, grabbed Jo’s arm.
“Be right back!” Tori chirped before darting toward the dance floor. Jo lingered near the edge, unsure what to do with her hands. She shoved them into her jeans pockets and leaned against a post, watching Tori’s fringed shirt swish as she danced. Jo smiled at how effortlessly Tori fit into this scene.
Her friend moved with a natural rhythm that Jo envied. She was still admiring Tori when the song ended, and Tori walked toward her. A tall, butch-looking woman with auburn hair and striking green eyes appeared out of nowhere. She pulled Tori into a hug that lingered a few beats too long.
“It’s so good to see you, Tori,” the woman said, her low and intimate voice putting Jo on alert. “I’ve missed you.”
Jo blinked. Tori hangs out with . . . her? She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling out of place in her borrowed boots and button-up shirt. The music shifted to another upbeat tune, drowning out whatever Tori said in response to the woman who squeezed Tori’s shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.
Tori bounced over, all smiles. “I’ll grab us some beers!” she said, brightly, before weaving through the throng toward the bar. Jo tracked her movements, noting how easily Tori greeted two men along the way, giving them big hugs and broad smiles. That was more like the Tori she knew.
When Tori returned with two frosty bottles in hand, Jo had barely opened her mouth to ask about Green Eyes when an announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Alright, folks, time for a line dance lesson! Everyone up!”
