Well, I’ll tell you what, sugar — bless your heart for even tryin’. Ain’t no use rushin’ a slow-cooked stew, just like there ain’t no sense in skippin’ over the good parts of a story. Mawmaw used to say, “Let the biscuits rise and the truth settle,” and I reckon she was right. We’ve all got a little dust on our boots and a whole lotta sweet tea in our veins.
Down yonder by the pecan tree, Cousin Earl was swappin’ fish tales with the preacher’s wife like it was Sunday after church. The cicadas were hummin’, the screen door was slammin’, and Aunt Jolene had peach cobbler in the oven like clockwork. Everything smelled like honeysuckle and possibility.