“Oh, thanks, uh, Mr. Mayor, you didn’t have to do that,” Charlotte said.

“Sure I did,” Zed replied. “You’re here to take care of our Jillian and who knows who else. We’ve got a Bayou baby boom coming down the tracks at us. We want to make sure you feel at home.”

When Charlotte paused, mid-reach for the plate, and sent him a curious look, Zed added, “Bear hearing is better than people think. Siobhan’s a little busy to help you pick your pie, but I figured most people like chocolate.”

“Do I look so tired that I can’t pick my own pie?” Charlotte asked.

Jillian laughed. “Siobhan is a brownie and she has this strange ability not only to make amazing pies, but to choose the best pie to meet your spiritual and emotional needs. It’s a thing here. And believe it or not, you won’t be disappointed. Her chocolate rhubarb is magical, either way. You can’t lose.”

“Any pie would meet my spiritual and emotional needs right now,” Charlotte sighed, shoveling a bite into her mouth. She put down her fork and leveled a very serious look at Jillian. “I need to find Siobhan and give her all of my money.”

“That’s how most people respond,” Jillian said, patting her arm.

Alex hadn’t been kidding about the number of mamas who would press food on her. Before she could sit down with the enormous platter of shrimp, rice dressing, crawfish bread, boudin, cornbread, and weirdly enough, spatzel, a half-dozen or so mothers sailed by to pile more food on her plate.

“They’re scoping you out as a potential mate for their sons,” Sonja informed her, placing an ice-cold beer bottle by Charlotte’s plate and settling into the chair next to her.

Charlotte wasn’t sure whether her sudden paralysis was from being star-struck by so many League luminaries sitting at the table with her or from the announcement that she was about to be aggressively match-made. She’d been through this before, her trailer door getting knocked on constantly as her little mini-fridge filled with not-entirely-edible casseroles. Convincing the masses of interfering parents–most of them trying to launch their adult sons out of their houses–that she did not, in fact, want to take said sons off of their hands, had a tendency to interfere with her job.

Apparently sensing her distress, Sonja added, “It’s nothing personal, it happens every time a newcomer moves into town. So far, all of the League transplants have found partners here and settled down. The mamas see it as a way to secure their kids’ lives here in town, and a couple of grandkids.”

Charlotte pressed her lips together and tried to find the most diplomatic way of saying, “Please, no.”

“They’ve probably stocked your fridge already,” Zed told her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen my maman without Tupperware in her car.”