Blood Orange Novels & Stories

He lifted it and set it closer, rustling softly as he opened it. “Since you donated blood, I got you some fruits and vegetables. Stuff that should help you recover faster.” He peered into the bag, then back at me, a little unsure. “I didn’t know what you liked, so… I got everything. Hope that’s okay.” My throat tightened immediately I threw a bright smile at him. Can he get anymore sweet? “Orange,” I said quietly. “An orange would be fine.” He nodded and picked one up from the bag then grabbed the knife. As he began peeling I watched him noticing how his movements were careful and precise.

he said. “Yes, boss. I think that is why they changed the packaging. Orange cancels out blue. They hoped it looked white and that we would distribute it as usual. I doubt most of our suppliers would react to the colour change. They are more focused on selling.” That sounded probable, Bane thought. “I want this tested. I want to know why it’s blue and I want to know how it differs from our usual product,” Bane told the man.

Cyrus replied confidently, "Yes, it's eyeshadow." "Wrong." Cyrus gave her another ten envelopes of money. She said, "This is a blush" George frowned. "It's obvious that there is also yellow in it." Sigrid explained quickly, "The yellow color is an orange shade of blush. There are also purple and light pink. However, they are all known as blush." George was speechless. Women were so troublesome. They were clearly yellow, purple and light pink. However, they only said that all of it was blush! What happened to the other three colors that got ignored? Why weren't those three colors included as well? It was so unfair!

Across the island, Isabella went still for two full seconds. Nonna Sveta turned around. Her gaze found Elena—not with grandmotherly warmth, but with the sharpened recognition of a woman who knew how to identify precision when she heard it. ✘ ✘ ✘ Nonna Sveta sent Elena to retrieve Blood Oranges from the lower compartment of the refrigerator. Elena transferred them to the wooden cutting board and split the first one open—one clean, assured press downward. No hesitation. The inside bled deep red. Its juice crept slowly across the grain of the board, far too dramatic for a winter fruit.