Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HQP0YD34QTMTTYGYD859H

Molly spread a floor plan across the café table, trapping its corners beneath two sugar shakers and a muffin. At the next table, a toddler banged a spoon against a cup. Molly waited for the noise to stop, then tapped a red circle in the plan. “Four o’clock. Cake comes out here.” Bill leaned closer. “You drew that circle around a bouncy castle.” “The cake is beside it.” “Then why’s there a crown on the castle?” “That’s the princess.” “Is she a threat?” “She’s six, Bill.” “She has a crown.” Molly took back her pen. The party was at the community hall on Saturday. Twenty children, one magician, and a present table positioned just inside the side door. She had learned this from the invitation stuck to her neighbour’s fridge. She had also learned that her neighbour expected her to bring potato salad. Bill studied the plan. “Are we going as parents?” “No. You look frightened of children.” “I am frightened of children.” “You’ll wear the rabbit costume.” He pushed the plan away. “The magician has a rabbit.” “The magician has a stuffed rabbit. You’re a surprise guest.” “Surprise to whom?” “To the magician, for a start.” Molly had found the costume in a charity shop window that morning. Its ears stood straight, its paws were enormous, and the zip had a tendency to catch. She had spent forty minutes inside it before she could pull it off again. Bill watched her place the receipt on the table and turn it over, revealing a sketch of the side entrance. “Once you’re in, you distract them,” she said. “I take the presents out to the van.” “All the presents?” “That’s the job.” “What if one’s a bicycle?” “We’ll make two trips.” “What if there’s a child on it?” “Wait until they get off.” The toddler at the next table dropped the spoon. Bill picked it up, wiped it on a napkin, and handed it back. The toddler stared at him, then knocked the cup over. Juice spread across Molly’s plan, turning the side entrance into a blue lagoon. Molly lifted the paper by two corners. “We can still read it.” Bill pointed to the invitation, which had floated loose. “Why does it say ‘No presents, please’?” Molly blinked. She turned the damp card around. Beneath a glittery drawing of a dinosaur, in purple capitals, were the words NO PRESENTS, PLEASE. DONATIONS TO THE ANIMAL SHELTER WELCOME. For a moment, neither thief spoke. The toddler resumed banging the spoon. “Well,” said Bill, “the rabbit costume’s appropriate.” “We’re not stealing donations from an animal shelter.” “I meant we could give them the costume.” Molly imagined telling her neighbour why Bill owned it. She folded the soggy floor plan, tucked it into her bag, and finished her coffee. “Saturday,” she said, “you’re coming with me to buy potato salad.” Bill looked relieved. “Can I wear my own clothes?” “Yes.” “Good. The rabbit paws won’t fit through a shop door.”