Luther does his best to fade into the background, in his seat at that patio table. And unlike the interaction with the fan earlier, it actually works here, because the little girl has eyes for nothing else but Allison: she's starry-eyed, her entire face lit up as the princess elegantly sinks down to be closer to her level. Balanced perfectly on those heels, and wielding poise as if she'd taken posture lessons, had walked down long corridors with books balanced perfectly on her head. (And with Grace as their mother, really, who knew what sort of life lessons were doled out?)

And he sits there with his spoon forgotten in the ice cream, twisted sideways with one arm over the back of his chair, just watching the interaction play out. Something in Luther's crisp blue eyes softens as he sees the way she smiles, the patient and effortless way she handles this exchange. (He, too, has eyes for nothing else but Allison.) As long as the kid isn't asking for his autograph or isn't a spider-demon in disguise, Luther isn't sure what the right move is here; so he stays quiet, trusting her to know what to do and say far better than he could.