A buttery, sweet flavor exploded across my tongue, and I let out a groan, my eyes rolling back. “My God,” I whispered, licking my lips. “Those taste just like—” “Jigs’ biscuits?” she guessed, a warm smile teasing her lips. I nodded, taking another bite. “Exactly like his.” Color tinted her cheeks, and pride flashed in her eyes. “I’m really glad to hear that, especially from someone who knows his biscuits. The twins have never had them, Mason doesn’t remember, and Denver is always busy.” I took a third bite, savoring the flavor and nostalgia. Jigs used to make biscuits and gravy for the entire
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