Molly crouched behind the garbage bins, peeking at the brightly decorated house across the street. “Okay, Bill, what’s the plan? We’re not exactly ninjas in here—this is a children’s party, not Fort Knox.” Bill adjusted his cap, eyes scanning the colorful banners fluttering in the breeze. “Easy. We’re going in, grabbing every single present, and ghosting before anyone notices. Simple.” Molly snorted. “Simple? Simple would be not attempting a heist where three-year-olds are involved. These are sugar-fueled wild animals, not your usual security guards.” Bill grinned. “That’s why it’s perfect. No one's looking because everyone’s too busy with the kids.” Molly rubbed her temples. “So, we dress as clowns?” Bill shook his head. “No way. Clowns are suspicious by themselves. We blend in—casual party guests. You restless over there gonna manage to look casual?” “Casual, yeah. Me and my tattoos, neon hair, and that giant crow tattoo on my neck? I’m as casual as a cat at a dog show.” Bill laughed. “Okay, maybe not you. But hey, I’ve got a fantastic ‘dad at a barbecue’ look going on.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “‘Dad at a barbecue’ doesn’t really scream stealth, Bill. More like ‘I’m gonna get my picture taken in embarrassing group photos.’” “Exactly. Nobody suspects the guy taking goofy snapshots,” Bill said, holding up his phone like a prop. “We’ll climb in, blend in, click a few pics, and while everyone’s distracted with the puppet show, I grab the gifts.” Molly tapped her foot impatiently. “What about the parents? They’re always hovering, watching their precious little spawn like hawks.” Bill nodded. “Enter my ace card: the ‘Helping Father’ act. I’ll ‘help’ corral kids to the snack table. Forge trust. Then I slip away with the loot.” Molly chuckled. “You’re counting on the ‘distracted dad’ stereotype? Brave, Bill.” “And what’s your angle, Ms. Tattooed Cat?” “I’m the ‘fun aunt’—lots of energy, handing out balloons, causing chaos. Kids won’t suspect a thing unless I start stealing cupcakes with my sleeves stuffed full.” Bill smirked. “Plan sounds solid. But the real problem is the birthday girl. She’s like a mini FBI agent disguised in glitter and giggles.” Molly nodded solemnly. “Oh yeah. Emily’s the ringleader. Trust me, if she thinks we’re after her loot, she’s got an army of friends ready to tackle us.” Bill shrugged. “Then we don’t get caught. We sneak, grab, and vanish.” Molly looked around nervously. “You realize the moment we crack open one present, these kids will scream loud enough to cause an earthquake, right?” “Which means we only open them once we’re back at the hideout,” Bill said. “No noise on site.” “Alright, serial gift vacuum, what’s the escape plan?” Bill flicked through his imaginary mental list. “Step one: Jack one bag. Step two: distract with cake accident—maybe I trip and send frosting flying.” Molly blinked. “You’re planning on tripping?” Bill shrugged sheepishly. “Accidentally on purpose.” Molly sighed. “Okay, so you’re the klutz, I’m the ‘fun aunt.’ Who’s got the getaway car?” Bill patted his jacket. “Me. And I made sure it’s decked out with a kid-friendly playlist. Spoonful of sugar as our soundtrack.” Molly laughed. “You’re insane. But I gotta admit, that’s kind of brilliant.” Bill grinned. “Thanks. Now, ready to swipe some wrapped wonders and make a clean getaway?” Molly cracked her knuckles, eyes gleaming. “Let’s do this. But if I get face-punched by a sticky toddler, I’m blaming you.” Bill raised his hands. “Deal. But you owe me cupcakes as peace offerings.” Molly smirked. “You got yourself a deal, Mr. Dad-at-a-barbecue.” They shared a conspiratorial nod and slipped off toward the gate, their laughter mingling with the distant chorus of children’s giggles and party music.