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speed. “Look at this. It’s way bigger than I dreamed.” She paced off the wood floor. “And light! Look at these win—” She came to a dead stop. Slowly she turned.
Inch by inch
. She lasered him with a burning look that suddenly cooled in a fit of laughter. “We’re enemies!”
    “Say what?”
    “You’re entering the contest, right?”
    “Yes.”
    “So am I, so we’re fighting over the same plot of land—like the French and the Indians or the Mexicans and Americans. You and I are in mortal combat.” Hands balled into raised fists, she grinned. “Is that going to create a problem with you giving my daughter art lessons?”
    He refrained from correcting her misconception about the French being at war with the Indians. Afraid of encouraging her absurdity, he covered an unexplainable smile with his stockinged hand. “I’ll do my utmost to remain neutral when it comes to your daughter. However …” Now where was that lead-in leading to? His mouth seemed intent on engaging without consulting his brain. “I make no concessions when it comes to my students’ mothers. The gloves are off, so to speak.”
    “Fun. What are you doing for supper tomorrow night?”
    “I thought we were enemies.”
    “We are. Romans 12, you know. If your enemy is hungry, give him chili. Extra spicy. Pardon the paraphrasing. So, are you busy?”
    “N–no.”
    “It’s strawberry chili night at Miles’s Mansion.” One eyebrow wiggled. Her voice undulated as if she were luring him into something lascivious. “You know you want to.”
    He cleared his throat and tried to loosen his tie. He wasn’t wearing one. “Will the children be home?”
    “My kids, my friends’ kids, and an odd assortment of other Cedarburgians.”
    “Well, that sounds delightfu—did you say
strawberry
chili?”

    Wilson closed the basement door. Star had just given him the five-second tour of the TLC shop. He looked at Willow with a knowing nod. “I understand your motivation.”
    Crystal pulled her away from the sympathetic eyes with a hand on her arm. “Willi, this is incredible.” She took another bite and pulled the plastic spoon slowly out of her mouth.
    “I’ll second that.” Wilson filled another cup with chili. His third helping.
    “Thank you. This might just be it.”
    “It? Ah … your entry for the Winterfest chili cook-off. You do have a thirst for competition, don’t you? What’s in it?”
    “It’s pretty basic. I just substituted pureed strawberries for half the tomatoes.”
    The back door banged open. Ralphy stomped in, splattering a six-foot radius with wet snow. His grin lifted blotchy cheeks framed by snow-crusted hair. “Hill’s ready! Come on!”
    The pile of boots by the back door dwindled in the ensuing scramble until only one pair remained. Wilson’s. Willow knew that because he was the only man left. “Well?” She nodded toward the boots.
    “I thought sledding was optional.”
    “This is Wisconsin. How could sledding be optional?”
    He stared out the kitchen window in the direction of the iced-over creek and the newly glazed path leading to it, his face as tight as the canvases he was famous for.
    “When’s the last time you were on a sled?”
    His Adam’s apple rose and fell. “Thirty years ago.”
    She repressed the “Seeeeeriously?” rising in her throat. “Guess we’d better fix that ASAP.”
    “It’s dark out there.”
    “Look at that moon. Besides, once we start moving it’s best to close your eyes and just go with it.” She gave an uncomforting laugh.
    “Are you sure the creek’s solid enough?”
    “Only one way to find out.”
    Wilson gave a curt nod and put on boots and a well-broken-in leather jacket. “Lead the way.”
    As she walked through the door ahead of him, she looked over her shoulder. “I’ll go down with you.”
    “Do you doubt my skill or my courage, Ms. Miles?”
    “Neither. I intend to shove you off when we catch air off the ramp.” She chose a yellow plastic