Allison finds herself staring at him what might be a few seconds too long, or too hard, after Luther's answer. Those words shoved out so fast as if they couldn't be kept in. He's got specificism down, but it's a little winding to think about there not being some other distraction in the fact of that intensity. To just be sitting somewhere, across a table, with only each other to look at.

Her life had been made of so much of that, for so much of the greater share of the decade behind her, them, and yet, still now. Now, it felt precariously like an overly large magnifying glass affixing itself above her. And yet. Did she want anything else, herself, anyway? Did she want him distracted by other things if there were so few minutes and hours until he vanished entirely from her life again?

"Coffee it is, then." Her smile is easy, as much a trade of her childhood as these last two years Hollywood. The couple in front of them starts loading into a cab, and it moves them up to the front of the line.