Free The Stars That Tremble by Kate McMurray

don’t sing. I always thought… for me, singing was like letting the music out. It was always in me, like a butterfly flapping its wings in my chest, and singing was how I released it. You have something of that within you too. I can see it. You don’t sing, but you dance . That’s how you let your music out.”
    Heat flooded Mike’s face. “Oh, it isn’t all that. It’s just something I do to stay sane.”
    “Exactly. Otherwise, the music gets pent up inside you. You need an outlet to express it. Some of us sing or take up an instrument. You show the music in you with your body.”
    The awe in Gio’s voice surprised Mike. He didn’t think it was such a big deal. “It’s nothing, really. I just… like it.”
    “It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. And so sexy. I had no idea until tonight. I mean, I knew you were sexy, because that’s obvious, but tonight you showed me something else entirely.”
    Mike had never been good at taking compliments, but that gave him a heady rush. He squeezed Gio’s hand. He wanted to return the sentiment—he had loved dancing with Gio, had been so totally turned on when Gio had pressed against him on the dance floor, had found Gio’s movements poetic and sexy in their own way. But he couldn’t come up with a way to say that without it sounding totally cheeseball. “I…,” he tried but stopped speaking, unsure of how to say what he wanted to say. “You’re wonderful, Gio.”
    Gio chuckled softly.
    As they approached Lincoln Center, Mike heard music. It was a little late for there to still be a performance—it was well past eleven, when the opera usually let out—but soon he saw that there was a busker sitting in front of the fountain, playing a cello.
    Gio tugged Mike toward the cellist. He stopped and swayed for a moment. “That’s lovely,” Gio said.
    Mike had no idea what the guy was playing, but it was nice to listen to and obviously took some skill.
    Gio said, “That’s a Bach concerto. Even if I weren’t familiar with it, I’d know a Bach piece anywhere. No one ever wrote music like that, before or since. The note patterns are so distinctive.” When the piece ended and the cellist dragged his bow across the strings one last time with a flourish, Gio applauded.
    Mike thought to pull out his wallet and give the kid a dollar, but Gio beat him to it, walking toward the man and handing a bill to him directly instead of just tossing it into the open cello case. The way the guy’s eyes widened indicated to Mike that Gio had given him more than just a dollar.
    “Play us something romantic,” Gio told the cellist.
    The guy appeared to think for a moment, and then he nodded and placed bow to string. Mike didn’t recognize this piece, either, but Gio definitely did, letting out a gleeful little noise, kind of a squeak in his throat. He grabbed Mike and pulled him into his arms, and soon Mike found himself slow dancing with Gio to some achingly beautiful piece of music. The lights from Lincoln Center shone on the sidewalk and reflected off the water in the fountain, creating an effect almost like candlelight, as if there were thousands of little flames surrounding them. Gio grasped Mike’s shoulders and led him in a dance that wasn’t quite what Mike was used to, but he figured out how to follow. It was a little odd; Mike knew he was a big guy, and as such, he was used to leading, but Gio’s hold on him was firm and confident.
    “It’s from La Bohème, ” Gio explained. “Beautiful and tragic. But this song is from early in the opera, when there is still hope. Oh, it is gorgeous. I have always loved Puccini.”
    It was possibly the most romantic moment of Mike’s life. He had a handsome man in his arms, he was dancing to the music of a single cello, and it was just them at the Lincoln Center Plaza. Warmth spread through his chest, and he felt giddy and dizzy and so very happy, and then all those feelings seemed to get lodged in his throat. He wanted to tell