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She felt something odd—cloth, but plush—and pulled it out. A startled laugh broke in her throat before she could swallow it. “Winnie-the-Pooh?”
Looking adorably mortified, Ewan chuckled and passed a hand over his face. His lovely hazel eyes sparkled with embarrassment. “Er…I’d forgotten that was in there.”
“You mean you really don’t sleep with it at night?”
“It’s my little cousin’s,” Ewan explained. “Henry. He put it in there so I wouldn’t be lonely.”
And he carried it instead of taking it out. That spoke volumes about the kind of person Ewan MacKinnon was. And the beauty in that? He didn’t know it. “That was thoughtful. And heroic,” she added.
“Carrying that stuffed animal is heroic?” he asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice. He gave his head a baffled shake. “Seriously? Why?”
“That you don’t know makes it all the more heroic. Very Knightley-esque. Are you often lonely?”
He chuckled and popped a chip into his mouth. “No more so than anyone else I would think.”
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