‘I can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle an orange,’
she says, as she slides her thumb against the flesh, removing skin.
‘My ex used to slice his with a knife and suck the juice straight from the rind,
that son-of-a-bitch; no patience - just get in there and get out.’
She moves a piece close while she speaks, teeth biting in as her lips envelop
the surroundings. ‘I need a man who takes his time, who removes the outside
before he splits up the sections - who’s thoughtful of which portion to eat first.’
My eyes archive her face as she finishes eating the last bit of fruit, and watch
closely as one finger skims effortlessly across her open mouth,
removing the single droplet almost left behind.