"That'll be $142.50," he said, his breath fogging in the cold.

A stupid, impulsive thought clawed its way up.

He walked back to his car, shivering, and checked the receipt on his app.

He pulled out his phone and showed her the zeroed-out tip line. "I drove 18 miles in freezing rain. You live 20 minutes from the store. The delivery fee doesn't go to me. My wage is $4.25 an hour on the road."

The clock on Liam’s beat-up Honda Civic read 11:47 PM. The last delivery of a double shift. The address was on the edge of town, a long gravel driveway leading to a renovated farmhouse that looked like it belonged on a lifestyle blog. Aspen Ridge Homestead , the mailbox read.

The order was ridiculous: three extra-large pizzas, two orders of cinnamon sticks, a two-liter of Coke, and a gluten-free, dairy-free, vegan "cheezeless" abomination that cost more than the rest combined. Total: $142.50.

"The app asks you to pick a tip. You chose 'none.'" Liam pointed at the screen. "Right there. In writing."