Molly drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, eyes locked on the brightly decorated house, balloons and streamers fighting for space against the windowpanes. "Okay, Bill," she whispered, her voice barely cutting through the tension cloaked inside the car. The engine hummed quietly, a lullaby to their nerves. "We're not just any thieves. We're the thieves who steal from the innocent - the problem solvers, the dream snatchers at birthday bashes." Bill squirmed in his seat, adjusting his Santa hat, a ridiculous choice for a mid-July heist, but Molly insisted on seasonal irony. He sighed. "I feel ridiculous, Molly. What if this is too low, even for us?" Molly's lips curled into a sly smile. "Oh, Bill, it’s not what we take, but how we take it that matters. Besides, think of it as... redistributing joy. Those kids will have a new story to tell. 'Remember the year the presents disappeared?' They’ll be legends in their own right." She winked, her enthusiasm infectious despite the absurdity of their plan. Bill shook his head, chuckling softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You’re mad, you know that? Completely and utterly mad." But there was an edge of excitement in his voice, a thrill of the challenge that only Molly could ignite. "That," she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "is exactly why you love me, Bill." With a quick rev of the engine, she pulled away from the curb, ready to make a night of stolen giggles and missing presents unforgettable for all the wrong, yet wonderfully thrilling, reasons.