Almost imperceptibly, she slinks away from the podium. Our gazes snap together as if on a cord. As she smoothly stalks toward me, I see what she wants. She doesn’t need doubt. She needs me. We come together behind a stand selling hot dogs and beer. Fallon flattens her brows, her lips. Approaches me with steely eyed focus. Flushed cheeks. The only telltale sign of nerves. “Good answer out there,” she says. “You almost sounded sincere.” “I was.”
