Mary's comment cemented Sato's resolution at having their chat. It confirmed a few other things as well, but there was time enough to deal with those later.
"You're quite welcome, mademoiselle." Sato's hand lightly touched the top of the child's head, resting there only briefly. Dropping her paw, she ushered the pair inside. "You may leave your equipment at the end of the hallway. There's a bathroom near there; wash up, please. We'll be having a spot of very late lunch." She met Jesse's eyes over his daughter's head. "Laura will forgive my spoiling the child's appetite just this once, I hope? Because I do hate talking on an empty stomach."
Sato waited for Mary to scamper off out of immediate hearing, before addressing Jesse out of the corner of her mouth in a low, curiously flat voice. "This will sound trite, and I apologize, but it must be said: I do not allow guns in my home, Mr. James. Not under any circumstance. If there are any on your person--thought I'm sure you would not be so rude--you will divest them immediately. Please." She turned to look at him, warmth suddenly radiating from her smile and eyes, and wrapped one slim, quick arm around Jesse's, steering them into the living room.
"Are you hungry? Oh, do say you are. Because, well, I'm afraid I went a little mad in the kitchen."
And indeed the island between kitchen and living room was colonized with delicious pieces. There was a platter of soft salad rolls and soup buns, crunchy fritters and overstuffed croissants. A dish of bread and butter pickles. Sweet potato tempura. Buttermilk quail (chicken would be too "big" for lunch, even one this late). And, yes, Johny cakes. A crystal pitcher of lemonade was sweating appetizingly at the side.
Sato lifted a glass and indicated the lemonade. "I can offer you a riskier drink but I doubt you'd accept. But there's tea and coffee, if you'd prefer."