Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HHXW5Q6BJJ7J3X7GJS6WJ

Molly spread the blueprint across a café table, pinning its corners with sugar packets. It showed a suburban house, a garden, and a rectangle she had labeled PRESENT MOUNTAIN. Bill leaned in, his expression sharpening with professional interest until he noticed the drawing of a bouncy castle. “Tell me that’s not part of the plan,” he said. “It’s central to the plan.” “I have weak ankles.” “You have weak commitment. We go in as entertainers, collect the presents, and leave before anyone notices.” “Entertainers doing what?” Molly reached beneath the table and produced two enormous felt strawberries. Bill stared. “No.” “The invitation says Strawberry Shortcake theme. We blend in.” “Strawberries don’t have arms.” “These do. That’s how we carry things.” Outside, a bus hissed to a stop. Inside, Molly tapped the blueprint. At two o’clock, the guests would arrive. At two fifteen, the presents would pile up beside the dining room. At two thirty, according to the invitation she had lifted from a neighbor’s recycling bin, there would be a magician. By three, Molly intended to be somewhere else entirely. Bill examined a sketch of the garden gate. “What’s this squiggly line?” “Dog.” “What kind?” “The kind I drew quickly.” “That’s not reassuring.” Molly gathered the sugar packets and rolled up the blueprint. She had once stolen a chandelier during a wedding reception without anyone noticing until the bride tried to throw her bouquet and looked up. A birthday party, she felt, ought to be manageable. At the house, a banner read HAPPY SIXTH BIRTHDAY, PIP. Children thundered across the lawn. Bill, encased in strawberry felt, moved with the solemn misery of a man carrying a sofa up a spiral staircase. A woman opened the gate. “You’re early!” Molly beamed. “We believe in maximum berry impact.” “Wonderful. The birthday girl’s inside. She’s been waiting for you.” Bill’s eyes widened behind his costume’s mesh face. Molly took his elbow and steered him toward the dining room. The presents stood exactly where she expected: a glorious mound of glossy paper, ribbons, and gift bags. Then Pip appeared. “You’re the strawberries,” she said. “Observant child,” Bill murmured. Pip folded her arms. “Do the song.” Molly looked at Bill. Bill looked at the presents. “What song?” Molly asked. “The strawberry song. Mum paid extra.” From the garden came the magician’s voice announcing that his rabbit had gone missing. A small white blur shot under the dining table, followed by six children and, shortly afterward, the dog. The gift bags toppled. The birthday cake slid toward the edge of the sideboard. Bill lunged and caught it. Molly scooped up the rabbit. For one breath, every adult in the room applauded. Pip held out a toy microphone. “Now the song.” Bill cleared his throat. “We are berries, round and red—” “Here to make sure you get fed,” Molly added. By the final verse, the children were chanting. The magician found his rabbit. The dog ate three napkins. Pip’s mother pressed an envelope into Molly’s hand. Outside, Bill opened it. “Fifty pounds.” Molly glanced back at the untouched presents. “We could come back next year.” “As entertainers?” She pulled off her strawberry head. “As very expensive entertainers.”