"They also won't fall to pieces should you take some time for yourself," she huffed, offended by the fact that her (admittedly childish) tactics had not so much as illicit an upwards glance from his reading. Still, the flush of heat against her cheek was enough to cause her to persevere; there was no malice in her intent, he would (or should) have known her better than to assume that, but there was a dogged insistence in it.
She wanted him to acknowledge her. Engage her. She wanted her friend.
She danced her fingers along his arm as another gust of wind rattled the stack of papers, sending more scuttling across the table top and spiraling to the floor, rolling her chin against his shoulder so that she was peering very closely at the side of his face. "I'll give you a hint," she said brightly, as though he had not spoken at all, "it's meant to remind you of someone you knew."