Something romantic, since Valentine's Day is coming up.
The warm summer night was alight with stars and fireflies, and Bob and Francesca sat on a hill to admire both. All in all, it was the most stereotypical Hollywood romance scene, at least from Bob's perspective, but he wasn't going to complain tonight. Sitting here with Francesca cuddled up to him beat everything he'd ever done with Selma, and it was probably the most genuinely romantic night of his life.
A rather sad-sounding sigh came from Francesca, and Bob looked down at her.
"Is something wrong, dear?" he asked in Italian.
Francesca pointed up at the flickering fireflies.
"I used to play here with my cousins when I was little. They would always catch fireflies, but never let me look at them." Francesca's tone changed from wistful to bitter, and she began to speak more rapidly. "Maria and Grazia told me that if I wanted a firefly, I needed to catch my own, and then they'd laugh at me when I tried."
Francesca's hand, which had been resting on the grass, clenched around the green blades and tore out a big chunk of it, as she added, "I couldn't help being so much shorter than-"
There came a loud clap, and then Bob's usual disgusted groan. The sounds helped Francesca snap back to the present.
"Roberto?"
Bob was hastily wiping a squashed firefly from his palm. He stood up, and when another firefly flew near him, he cupped his hands around it with far more gentleness. Bob carefully placed the firefly into Francesca's hands.
"Here you are."
The firefly illuminated the happy tears streaming down Francesca's face, and she kissed him.
"Thank you, Roberto!"