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Noah "Puck" Puckerman came out to New York City to follow a girl, and after two years of searching he didn't really expect to ever see her again— well maybe on Broadway when she'd made it, and he'd saved up. He certainly never expected to see Rachel Berry waltz through the door of his bar on a Wednesday night. She was alone, but smiling. She sat down at the bar and ordered her drink without looking at him. "I got the part!" She told him proudly. Puck was used to exclamations of joy and sorrow. Most patrons didn't expect or need anything more than grunts or occasional small words of encouragement to continue their stories. Puck usually obliged and let them chatter away. Tonight, however, he was struck dumb. This caused her to look up at him. "Noah?" She asked, almost reverently. "I didn't know you were in New York."
"Yeah. I left Lima two days after you did. Couldn't seem to catch up to you though." He managed to say. "And you had your number changed."
"You were looking for me?" Rachel asked him, surprised.
"Of course." He said it like it was the only thing certain in the world. She was speechless. Puck made the drink she ordered, then went to tend to the other customers. When he came back, she was gone, her drink untouched. He sighed. Of course he would mess up one of the most important moments of his life. Then he noticed she had left a tip on top of a napkin. The napkin held her number and a note, "Looks like you caught up -☆"