There's something about a live concert that watching on TV, or video, or on YouTube just can't quite match. A hum in your veins born from the shared excitement of the crowd. The joy of them all just being here, and all because of one man's songs.

She's impressed. In spite of herself, she's impressed with how York handles himself on stage, keeps the crowd engaged, doesn't show a lick of the fear she knows he felt and still feels after the incident earlier this day. There's a casual thumbs up a time or two when he looks her way, but it's not until the last song that he might notice she's -- more attentive -- surprised, but not in the alert manner of someone on guard, but that of someone who's encountered something she wasn't expecting.

And all that formidable attention is turned on him.