Molly peered through the bush, flicking glitter out of her hair. “Bill, are you absolutely sure these are the right coordinates? I see a lot of balloons, but not a single briefcase.” Bill, stretched out uncomfortably on the grass beside her, scowled. “Molly, trust me. You think I’d drag us out here just to watch five-year-olds eat cake?” “I mean, yes. You’ve done worse for less.” He huffed, swatting a rogue butterfly from his sleeve. “Look, that gift table is buckling under the weight of presents. I’ve never seen so many sparkly bows in my life.” “That’s your problem, Bill—you look at bows and think payday.” He grinned. “You get a big enough bow, that’s at least three bucks re-sold.” Molly rolled her eyes. “We’re not fence workers. We’re master thieves. We want the good stuff. Remote control cars. Nerf guns. Maybe a PlayStation if these parents love their kid.” Bill shrugged. “I’ll settle for the cupcakes.” “That’s because you have a sugar addiction, not because you’re a professional.” He ignored her, eyes lighting up as a clown juggled rubber chickens. “Distraction’s in place already. See? We slip in during the balloon animals, grab the loot, gone in the wind.” “Bill. I’m not getting chased by angry toddlers again. Last time, one bit my ankle. Left a mark.” He snorted. “You’re afraid of a four-year-old?” “Have you ever seen one in a bouncy castle? It’s primal.” “I’ve got a plan,” he whispered, winking. “Step one: blend in. Step two: pilfer the haul. Step three: blame the magician.” Molly shot him a look. “Brilliant. So what do we do, walk in singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’?” He nodded, dead serious. “I know all the verses. Even the one with the duck.” “There’s no duck in ‘Wheels on the Bus,’ Bill.” He grinned wider. “Not if you don’t believe hard enough.” She shook her head but grinned. “Fine. So how do we blend? Got any party disguises in your magic duffel bag?” “Of course.” Bill dug inside his bag, pulling out a neon pink party hat and a tutu. “Told you I plan for everything.” “Remind me to ask about your childhood trauma.” He shrugged into a rainbow vest. “Don’t judge the process, Molly. Now, we go over there, scope out the dance floor, and when the kids are enchanted by that subpar magician, we trade out the gift bags with decoys.” “Decoys? We have decoys?” Bill held up a stack of empty shoeboxes, neatly wrapped in shiny paper. “I wrapped these during my cousin’s baby shower. No one noticed.” Molly stared at him, then reluctantly nodded. “Fine. But if you trip over your tutu and land us in kid jail, it’s your fault.” He took her arm, grinning. “Relax. If anything goes wrong, I’ll mime my way out.” She snorted, fixing the party hat on her head. “If we pull this off, I want the cotton candy machine.” “I call the chocolate coins.” Molly paused, then grinned as confetti drifted across the lawn. “All right, Bill. Let’s go steal some happiness.” “As long as they don't make us play musical chairs.” “Don’t tempt fate.”