Molly peered through the rainbow streamers, nose pressed almost flat against the glass. “You see that, Bill? That’s a jackpot if I’ve ever seen one.” Her voice, coated in professional envy, almost matched the birthday clown’s painted-on grin. Bill fiddled with his borrowed ‘I Heart Balloons’ cap. “How many presents you reckon are in that pile?” “Twenty-two, possibly twenty-three if you count that big one in the back. The one with blue dinosaurs. Little Hattie’s going to be devastated,” Molly said, eyes never leaving the target. “Perhaps devastated, perhaps character-building,” Bill reflected, tracing a crayon-smeared birthday invitation with one gleaming finger. “What’s our in? And don’t say the pony again. I’m not hiding behind a pony.” Molly smirked. “No pony this time! See, parents drop off their precious darlings, then gather round the sangria. That’s our window. We blend, distract the adults with—” “Drama?” Bill asked, already tugging at a sequined vest. “Drama, exactly. Parental drama. I’ll spill my lemonade, accuse you of being my ex, you run out crying. While everyone gawks, you double back and hit the presents. Easy.” Bill grunted, thinking. “It’s foolproof until the magician encroaches. Kid magicians smell fear, Molly.” “He's seven, Bill. I can outwit a second-grader.” “That’s what you said last time, and you ended up getting tape-stuck to a confetti cannon,” he whispered with a hint of pride. “Focus,” Molly said, lowering her voice as the clown flexed nearby. “We move fast, we blend, we—oh lord, look at those paper hats. Grab me one of those.” Bill started to protest, then shrugged and snatched two hats from the table, placing one rakishly on Molly’s head. “Now, do we need a signal for extraction?” Molly’s grin widened. “If I shout ‘Piñata!’ that means fetid disaster, abort. Otherwise, you just loiter near the cake. No, not too near. Those candles could kill a yak.” Bill shimmered with nervous anticipation. “What about kid patrol? They’re sharp. Last time, one of them clocked us in under six minutes.” “That was because you tried to swap their L.O.L. Doll for a potato,” Molly sighed, suppressing laughter. “You just avoid the kids, alright? Focus on the loot pile.” He took a moment to survey the room, his gaze snagging on a stack of colorfully wrapped boxes. “What if the parents try small talk?” “Smile and nod. You're the uncle from Prague. They love exotic. If they ask about Prague, just say ‘cobblestones’ and look sad. Trust me.” Suddenly, the stereo kicked in with a panicked rendition of “Baby Shark.” Molly tensed. “That’s our cue. They’ll swarm the dance floor, guarding the presents less. We’re in.” Bill gave a two-fingered salute. “Let’s do this, Moll. Cake and chaos, remember.” She linked arms with him, and together they slipped through the tangle of balloons and shrieking children, heads low, hats askew, hearts pounding with the thrill of imminent larceny. As the party guests dissolved into a conga line, Molly whispered, “Now, Bill. Operation Gift Grab is a go.” And with that, they vanished into the mayhem, leaving only the faintest whiff of lemonade and mischief in their wake.