Present Day
Quinn Fabray's eyes opened the instant the moment the alarm clock rang into her ear. Throwing her left hand blindly to stop the contraption, she fumbled for the sheets with her right hand, and feeling the coldness of the other side of the bed she had grown so accustomed to during the past months told her that yes, she was alone again.
She looked around once her eyes were accustomed to the light from the window. She squinted them...once, twice, thrice. She could hear the faucet in the bathroom viciously gushing out. Looking at the digital clock, Quinn's head shot up from the pillows. She's terribly late.
Again.
Her feet felt rough against the carpet that she and Rachel had received from Hiram Berry, one of Rachel's dad, during their wedding two years ago as their wedding gift. Clutching at her brown cotton robe, Quinn quickly made her way to the shower for a quick splash and she wiggled her way through the sink, where Rachel was viciously brushing her teeth.
Rachel's toothpaste-filled mouth gurgled something inaudible that Quinn can't even comprehend, although Quinn had a hunch that it was yet another hurried morning pleasantry thrown her way. She mumbled a "good morning" to her brown-haired wife, and then she moved into the shower. She unceremoniously tossed her clothes to the side and felt the water trickle down her frame.
"The electrician called," Rachel said from the sink once she had rinsed her mouth with water. "He said there was something wrong with the internal heating and circuits...something, I did not really remember."
"Yeah?" Quinn yelled over the shower.
"Yeah. He had to tear out a few boards in the basement and it cost him nine hundred bucks," Rachel said calmly.
"Nine hundred?" There was a clatter behind the shower curtains, and the curtain rings slid over the metal beam. "He charged how much?" a dripping Quinn Fabray stood beside Rachel in front of the mirror.
"He charged nine hundred bucks," Rachel repeated for Quinn.
"And what'd you say?" Quinn growled, her eyebrows now furrowed on her forehead. By then, she was starting to change into her work clothes that she had stashed into one of the hangers just opposite the sink.
"I said I would sleep with him and he said he'd knock out a hundred and fifty," Rachel said off-handedly, although she wanted Quinn to be angry at her for saying such things. She needed to feel that Quinn still wanted her.
"That's good thinking, honey," Quinn grinned, wheezing out of the bathroom and she went running to the kitchen counter to retrieve her car keys. She did not even bother to touch the toast and the coffee Rachel had prepped up for her.
Rachel was left wistfully looking at her own reflection in the wide vanity mirror in their bathroom, just listening to Quinn's rushed clatter in the kitchen and then the slam of the front door of their three-bedroom apartment in downtown Manhattan.
Quinn wove her way through the city streets, hoping that she could cut off a few minutes from her late travel. The traffic had become more and more congested by the minute. However, that did not try to keep Quinn from trying.
Quinn wound her way through the subway, then jumping to the train and running the whole block from the subway ride to Schuester Literary Agency where she had been spending her days as a proofreader.
"You're late, Fabray," Sue Sylvester, the supervising head of the agency growled as Quinn rushed into the office as Quinn ran into the woman on her way to her cubicle.
"But I'm just five minutes late!" Quinn cried out.
"Five minutes late," Sue breathed out. "Is still late, Quinn Fabray. Now get your ass moving because I've got more important things than you to waste my time on."
Quinn only nodded and went on walking to her cubicle. She looked around the messy desk and decided to pick up the upturned and spilling coffee cup from yesterday. A neat stack of bond papers were already on her right hand side. And right hand side means long-ass work to do for Quinn Fabray.
"Damn it," Quinn mumbled as she threw the coffee cup from yesterday into the trash bin under her desk. She hated days like these, and knowing she had that long-ass editing job to do was making it worse than it already was.
Four hours and three cups of strong, black coffee later, Sue Sylvester's pop-up window appeared on her screen. Will Schuester was smart enough to create a private local area network chat room inside the building, making communications between employees easier and a lot more fast.
Sue Sylvester: Fabray. Come to my office. NOW.
Quinn stared at the computer monitor, internally debating whether she would reply to Sue Sylvester's message, telling her boss that no, she is held by work and she had something to do or just walk into Sue's office, telling that face of evil that no, she's not there to do something for her.
"Damn it!" Quinn kicked the trash bin underneath her desk, causing a resounding thwack. She stood up a few moments later, and walked her way to Sue Sylvester's office calmly as she counted her steps.
"Now, what do I owe you?" Quinn mumbled at Blaine Anderson, Sue Sylvester's flaming gay secretary.
"Good luck, Fabgay," Blaine smiled at the blonde-haired beauty. "Sue's waiting for you."
Quinn went into the adjacent room and she saw the elder blonde sitting calmly behind her desk. She was wearing the teal-colored business jacket she had seen her in when she ran into her earlier and Quinn could see a hint of deep green underneath it. Classy and ethereal-looking, as usual.
"Hello, Quinn," Sue chittered coldly.
"Hello," Quinn had almost wanted to add a colorful adjective but she had stopped herself. The truth is, Quinn never liked her job. Don't get her wrong, she loved her work. Being an editor is hard, but Quinn loved it. However, Quinn had the royal hatred against her boss and her colleagues, which translates to her being a total bitch to everyone that comes near her.
"Please, have a seat," Sue motioned to the cream-colored chair that sat on the opposite side of the desk. Quinn complied without haste and tapped her fingers on her thighs, a habit she had formed during her college days.
"Quinn, I understand that you had been working for sometime now," Sue started to say. "Do you know Finn Hudson?"
"Yeah," Quinn nodded slowly. "He is an article researcher, but that's all I know."
"He was an article researcher," Sue said evenly, except she had emphasized the 'was' in her sentence. "He had a car accident last night and his ass is on a hospital bed right now."
Quinn blinked, once...twice...thrice.
"Not that I am glad about it, though. However, you Quinn Fabray," Sue leaned over her desk. "I need you to take over his place."
"What? Me?" Quinn pointed at herself, shell-shocked and clearly not grasping the idea of her being a writer.
"Yes, Quinn Fabray, you," the elderly lady pointed blood-red talons at her. "I expect you to pass a freshly prepped article a three weeks from now. And you better make it interesting."
"But, I'm a proofreader! Do you expect me to know what to write and whatnot?" Quinn blurted out. She was never the one to back down when she had her reasons. Sue winced at the volume of her voice she had been using.
"Yes, you are. But I am your boss and I am putting you in charge of the next month's cover story," Sue growled impatiently. "I need your perspectives tomorrow. If you can't give me at least one strong and good-founded plan on your research tomorrow morning, I have to send you to Baghdad or wherever there's war. No more questions? Thank you. You can leave now."
Quinn sat with her mouth agape, until she realized that Sue wasn't going to say anything more and she can't do anything to change Sue's mind. She sighed softly and stood up. "Alright, Miss Sylvester. I'll try to come up with an idea tomorrow."
Her heavy feet carried her out of the elder lady's office, with Blaine tagging behind her. She even made no effort to conceal her barely disguised contempt for that day. She grumbled as she sat down on her desk.
"What?" she growled at Blaine.
"Sue wants to have the draft you're editing. She said she plans on giving it to Roz so you can, you know focus on your new assignment," Blaine said.
"Like she really cares," Quinn admonished and finished her flair with a decent eye roll.
"She really does. And she knows you need this assignment, Quinn."
"I don't give a damn as to what she cares about and whatnot. I don't care about that stupid fuckface Hudson that's on a hospital bed somewhere," Quinn muttered.
"You need this job, Fabray. Now you can go home," Blaine stood there for a few moments, then left Quinn to herself.
During the ride home, Quinn sat thinking to herself as to what might be the best thing to do since she had to submit a proper article proposal on Sue Sylvester's desk by tomorrow morning and there is no fucking way she can do it. Suddenly, in the midst her deep thought, her phone vibrated on the dashboard and Quinn quickly whipped it open.
Dad Hiram: I'm coming over at six.
"Damn it!" Quinn growled. Don't get her wrong. She loves her wife's family, especially Hiram, but with all the pressure she's had this morning, she can't handle Hiram's unstoppable mouth about raising children and grandchildren, because hey, she's not yet up for it.
Quinn sat behind the wheel, immersed in her thought, and inwardly cursing at the universe because she just had her worst day in the whole history of ever.
She arrived home later that day, only to find Rachel on the couch, obviously waiting for her.
"Hey," Rachel greeted.
"Hey, you," Quinn mumbled past her wife's way and missed out how Rachel's shoulders deflated as she took a deep breath and let it out as a deep sigh.
"How was work?" Quinn asked, feeling as if it was more of a responsibility than an innate interest in her wife's day at the community high school where Rachel taught English.
Rachel's eyes lit up for a fraction of a second and she looked at Quinn, beaming happily. "It was actually fun."
"Okay," Quinn casually shrugged, and then she turned away, yet missing again Rachel's pained eyes.
"Your dad texted, by the way. He said he's coming over," Quinn said as she walked up the stairs. "I'll go get changed. Who's gonna cook?"
"It's your night," Rachel responded as she followed Quinn up to their bedroom. They took on turns on cooking dinner, but most of the time, Quinn misses it out and Rachel usually does every household chore, especailly when Quinn had long days in her job.
"Can you just make an order?" Quinn muttered, clearly annoyed at the idea that she ahs to cook for them tonight.
"But, Quinn, you said..."
"No, I am so tired. I just had a shitty day and don't drop this on me, Rae," Quinn protested as she cut her wife off. "Please...just make the order."
"Okay," Rachel sighed as she left the room, clearly trying to hide the pain in her eyes as she made her way to the kitchen phone. She then made the order for pizza.
Dinner with Hiram was uneventful, especially that it only consisted of plain cheese pizza, some microwaved gourmet dinner and a tuna sandwich. However, as what Quin had expected, the issue of having children was then brought up by Rachel's dad.
"So, Quinn...aren't you two a bit, well, say...too quiet here?" Hiram asked as he downed another glass of cheap champagne.
"Well, not really, Hiram. I mean, Rachel and I...we just got on our feet and seriously, we ain't rushing it. If Rachel's ready, then I'm ready...but if one of us isn't ready yet, well, that means the whole I-want-to-have-a-grandbaby vibes you're feeling now has to wait," Quinn fired at Hiram.
"Well, my point there, Quinn, is that, I am not getting any younger and so are you," Hiram said as he cast a loving smile upon the couple in front of him. "I would like to believe that once you have a child, you're taking marriage to a whole new level," Hiram retorted with a smirk.
"Dad, if Quinn's not ready," Rachel cut in. "Then I don't think having a child at this point would be a good idea."
"Damn right, Rae. I mean, yeah, I wanna take this on to a higher level, but not just now. I mean, right now, we're all treating it casually and I and Rae still had the time of our lives. I am busy building up a career so I can provide a better ground, whenever it comes, you know...the baby and whatnot and all," Quinn reasoned.
"I see your point, Quinn," Hiram smiled, and then folded his hands over the table. "Oh, I have to get going, my girls. I still have a business meeting to attend to. Think about what I am saying."
"Okay, I guess," Quinn mumbled tentatively as Hiram stood up. "I guess, we'll see you around then."
"Visit us more often, Dad," Rachel said.
Half an hour later, Quinn was sitting on the couch, on the search for whatever that may sound good to the public mainstream of articles when she landed on a photograph of a family of four, stuck as a filler-in for an article in some old magazine. On their background was the deep, blue sea and there was something in the photograph that got Quinn's attention. She skimmed through the lines and realized that the photograph was taken at an island near the Florida Keys, and almost a few miles off of Cuba.
She took out her pen and started to plan on her research. She'd talk to locals, see a few sights, take out a few photographs and get some insights on life on the coastlines of the Atlantic. Two hours later, Quinn turned in for the night.
Rachel slept at the right side of the bed, and she was facing the nightlight. Quinn got on the bed's left side, faced the nightlight and turned it off. Without missing a beat, Quinn fell asleep.
The next morning, bright and early, Quinn walked in Sue's office, smiling proudly to herself. She didn't even bother to knock and she approached the Sue Sylvester sitting on her desk, her pink blouse clinging to her boobs just right.
"So, Fabray, show me what you got," Sue mumbled.
"I...was planning on Florida," Quinn rambled. "I mean, an article about island life in Florida."
"What?"
"Look, here Sue, why don't we make an article about summer getaways and island life. Clearly, no one has ever had thought of it. I mean, we all talk about fashion and clothes and exercise and diet programs, but hey, we missed out on how nature can help build a person's well-being. Plus, good-looking magazines pay well. And it's summer," Quinn breathed out, and she covertly crossed her fingers together.
Sue sat thinking for a moment, and she looked as if she was trying to consider Quinn's proposal. Then a wide grin broke into the old woman's grave face. "Cook it for me, Fabray."
Quinn breathed out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Sue."
"Anderson," Sue called her assistant. "Book a flight to Florida, please. And have a company's credit card for Fabray."
Sue then turned to Quinn. "Pack some clothes tonight. Your flight to Florida will be tomorrow at six."
Later that afternoon, Quinn was battling against the knapsack zipper when Rachel came into their room, exhausted and looking as if a bomb has been dropped on her.
Quinn looked at her wife, and there was that duty again to check out on Rachel. "Long day?" she croaked out.
Rachel only nodded. "I'll cook. Where you going?"
"Work," Quinn answered nonchalantly.
"You have to leave?" Rachel asked, her voice soft, yet hollow.
"Yeah. I gotta go do some research over someplace in Florida," Quinn shrugged.
"When're you gonna be back?"
"Maybe a week from now...maybe, five days," Quinn muttered as she pushed a little more on the zipper until it was snapped close.
"Okay..." Rachel stood up, then left for the kitchen.
That night, as usual, they slept with their backs turned on each other.
..
Quinn stretched the rubber band on her right index finger again...and again. She had done the damn thing for almost the millionth time and thankfully, the PA called that they can board on the plane already.
She wiggled her way through the plane's coach and found her seat. It seemed that luck was on her side because she was having a window seat. She quickly popped her knapsack into the overhead cabin and started to plug in the ear buds she had brought with her and she started to listen to The Script.
Travel to Florida would take her five hours, so Quinn settled to read a book, however, after the first fifteen pages, she found the story utterly boring and just opted out to sleep, which was on her part, a benefit after having the lack of sleep the previous night.
..
The next moment Quinn had opened her eyes was because of the jolt she had felt when the plane tires made contact with the rough runway. She shifted awkwardly on her chair, and then she shifted to stretch her stiff neck.
She stepped aboard the plane and inhaled the salty air of Tampa. Then, she set out to do the first thing she had to do – book a room in the local motel.
She picked her way through the neighborhood, and she quickly found one. It was a small inn, and she would prefer something like that, because it looked clean and affordable, and safe. She quickly hoisted herself upon the steps and went to the young teenage receptionist.
"Hey, how much does a room cost?"
"You can afford it," the girl said in a matter-of-factly tone.
"Alright, give me a room, just one. I'm tired," Quinn grumbled and the girl quickly handed her a key to the room. Quinn dragged her feet across the lounge and went into one of the hallways. Queer as it sounds to her, but the rooms seemed to be deserted, but she figured out it was because most of the people were in the beaches or wherever.
A good five hours of sleep later, Quinn emerged at the lounge that afternoon. She was wearing her faded brown khaki pants, a white shirt and a sporty pair of rubber sandal. She had hoisted a camera bag around her hip and slung a rucksack on her shoulders for her camera.
It's showtime.
Quinn walked along the boardwalk, where a lot of shops were setting up. Most of them were textile stores and sold driftwood sculptures, chairs, tables and some furniture. Some others also sell surfing gears, surfboards and some were filled with boats for rent. She interviewed a few people, especially the shop owners and the surfers.
She went on about them, asking questions, wanting to hear stories. The only thing that held her back from her story-picking was her growling stomach. Quinn wiped the slick film of sweat across her forehead as she approached an old man sitting beside the doorway of a craft shop.
"Mister, can I ask you something?" Quinn politely said.
"You just did, Miss," the old man replied as he crossed then recrossed his legs.
"Well, can I ask you, something else?" Quinn grinned easily. She's facing a shrewd man.
"Fire away, then."
"Do you know any restaurants here?" Quinn said, the growling in her stomach was becoming unbearable by the moment. The old man gave her a funny look, then he grinned.
"I see your need. Just walk around this lane," he pointed to his left. "And when you come to the end of it just turn left, you'll find the Snugly Ducky. It's Tuesday and it's a good day out there."
Quinn thanked the man and went to the direction he gave for her. The restaurant was just round the corner. It wasn't big and posh, but she found it rather homely. By then, it was getting dark and Quinn's stomach was already having a riot so she pushed through the revolving doors. She took a single booth just around the corner, near the wall.
It seemed like a great place for her, and she noticed that the place was like, comfortable and there was this ambiance to Quinn that the diner had more than food to offer. A framed photograph took her attention, and it deliberately carried her away towards the reality she's stuck in.
"May I take your order please?" a blonde-haired girl materialized just behind her, causing her to tear her eyes away from the framed photograph above her.
"I...I haven't really looked at the menu yet," Quinn said apologetically. "You can just come back, if you want."
"No, it's alright, ma'am. I mean, you're in my section so I'll just wait for your order," the girl grinned.
"Well, thank you...Kitty," Quinn drawled as she stared at the girl's name plate. "Is that your real name?"
"Yeah. So, what's your order?" the girl asked again.
"I'm sorry, I just don't really know," Quinn smiled politely. "What do you think I could get? Your best dish perhaps?"
"Cool. You're not allergic to chicken are you?"
Quinn snorted and smiled. "Of course,I am not."
"Then I'll serve you an orange chicken," Kitty scurried away to the counter where she yelled something about an orange chicken into a brown-haired girl around the same age as her.
Quinn was left again to stare at the wall, and her eyes did not take long to stick into the silhouette photograph of a blonde girl on a hay bale, facing something that seems to be the sun. The light that caught her eyes weren't much, but it had made the girl look utterly beautiful. Ethereal was the only word that Quinn could ever describe the photograph. It was as though the girl in the picture had something in her eyes. Something that Quinn can't point out. One thing she was sure though, the beautiful girl has a story behind her.
"Why are you sitting on my booth?" a harsh growl snapped Quinn back into the reality.
"Excuse me?" Quinn asked, clearly unfazed by the man and she was taken aback by the man's angry face.
"I asked, why are you sitting on my booth?"
"No, you can't tell me where I am supposed to sit. And frankly, I haven't seen your name written on the booth...or wherever for that matter," Quinn snapped.
"Orange chicken for the new girl in town!" Kitty wheezed between Quinn and the man. She quickly plunked down the orange chicken on the table.
"Kitty, what's this?" the man asked. "Does she know where she's sitting?"
Kitty looked at the man warily and looked at Quinn. "Sorry, Noah. She's a tourist."
"Tourist or not, she can't sit on this booth," the guy named Noah growled.
"You can just enjoy the beer on the other table, you know that," Kitty reasoned out.
"You do know why I sit on this booth every night, Kit. And she's blocking the damn photograph," Noah said.
"Well, you can share the booth if you want," Kitty said as she pulled out a stool from her side. "You have to suck it up, Noah."
"Whatever, Kit. Go back to your work," Noah sat on the stool. "I guess I'm gonna suck it up, anyways."
"I'm really sorry, miss," Kitty apologized to Quinn.
"It's alright, dear," Quinn threw Noah a sharp look. "I guess I have to suck it up, too."
As soon as Kitty left the two of them, Noah started to speak. "I'm sorry. It's just that...no one sits on this booth because everybody knows I always sit on this booth every night. You're a tourist, and I thought you already knew."
Quinn didn't respond for a while. She was thinking as to why the man had always wanted to sit on the booth and look at the photograph. She settled to ask him for herself.
"Why?"
"Why what?" Noah asked as he downed half of his beer.
"I mean, why do you want to sit here every time?" Quinn asked Noah politely.
"Oh, you weren't listening to me and Kits earlier, right?" Noah chuckled. "Well, I want to see the photograph of the girl on top of your head. See that?" he pointed to the wall.
"Yeah, it's beautiful," Quinn looked at the picture. "I bet you knew her."
"Yeah, I do know her, a lot. But I never got her full name. I'm Puck by the way. My real name is Noah Puckerman, but everyone, except Kitty, calls me Puck."
"Uh-huh. Okay, so why didn't you get her name? Was it a one night stand?" Quinn rambled. "No offense."
Puck looked at her with bewildered shock.
"I know, yeah...well, I was thinking you were...uhh," Quinn said. "I'm sorry, Puck."
"No, it's okay," the man smiled. "I know, with the mohawk and all, I am a perfect contender for that field of night's work."
Quinn lowered her head for a minute, and then she looked apologetically at Puck. She then looked at the orange chicken. "I'm sorry, Puck."
"I never met her in person, for the record," Puck chuckled as she opened his second bottle of beer and leaned on the table.
"What do you mean?" Quinn's eyes popped open as she understood what Puck was saying.
"I never met her in person," Puck repeated.
"Tell me," Quinn said.
"It's a long story," Puck leaned back a little.
Quinn was ready to tell Puck that she was up for the story no matter how damned long that story about the girl was because hell, she's too interested, but someone on the makeshift stage was trying to get Puck's attention.
"Yo, Puck!" another boy called to the mohawked man with his failing ghetto talk. "You're up!"
Noah Puckerman looked at Quinn apologetically. "I'm sorry. I have to go now." Puck quickly stood up and walked away.
"But what about..."
"Come back tomorrow, same time, I'm free," Puck yelled as he made his way to the stage. "By the way, I didn't get your name?"
"I'm Quinn Fabray!"
Puck ran to the guy and they shared a fist pump and a hug.
"So, good evening, folks. As our tradition calls for it, me and Marley," Kitty pulled the brown-haired girl she was talking to earlier on the stage "...are gonna work for the rest of the night while there is music for everyone."
"Today is Tuesday and it means that it's our hardcore rock pair, Jake and Noah will play for us," the girl named Marley smiled at everyone. Quinn sat back, looking at them with keen interest.
Jake and Noah stood on the stage as Kitty and Marley went down the stage. Jake tapped the microphone three times and smiled at Puck. "It's all good, big bro."
"Hey everyone! Good evening!" Puck smiled at everyone in the room and his gaze lingered across Quinn. "I just wanna say something. Hold on for a second."
"As we all know it, I always play a certain song right before a performance, and so...here I go," Puck said and he strummed his guitar.
"I dedicate this song...to the blue-eyed girl," he gazed across the room and looked at Quinn.
Blue eyes, blue eyes...
She had the sun's rays in her hair...
She's got the ocean in her eyes...
Oh, blue eyes...
She's like a summer day...
Soft and mellow as the afternoons
Of sweet summer days...
"So, there you go fellas," Puck smiled. "Me and Jake will sing Heaven. So here goes nothing."
Jake and Puck played several songs later, and then Quinn left. She planned for tomorrow and she looked at the time. The local fire dancing on the coastlines would start in ten minutes so she decided to agree with Puck. She'll be back tomorrow.
..
Quinn took a deep breath as she walked into the restaurant. She found Noah Puckerman sitting on the same booth as yesterday, staring at the girl's photograph. He had a couple of bottles of beers on the table.
"Hey you," Quinn breathed out. "How're you?"
"Hey," Puck grinned. "I'm great, you?"
"I'm great. And I kind of really wanna hear your story about the girl," Quinn said as she pulled a stool and sat in front of Puck.
"Getting straight to the point, are we?" Puck chuckled and then drank from his beer bottle. "How about a beer, Miss Fabray?"
"No, thanks," Quinn politely refused the man. "But I would really love it if you want to tell me about the girl."
"Alright. Well, the photograph wasn't taken anywhere near here, Miss Fabray. The photograph was taken almost five years ago, in Lima. That's in Ohio and a thousand miles from here. It was the summer of 2008."
"A thousand miles away from LA, too," Quinn chuckled softly.
"You're from LA?" Puck snorted a little and smiled. "I've been to LA when I was in high school. And it's almost a decade from now."
"Seriously?" Quinn blurted out. "I'm sorry."
"Well, back to the girl's story. Two and a half years ago, a girl came here, just like how you came inside this restaurant. She sat on the same booth we're sitting now," Puck smiled at the memory.
"And?" Quinn said with a hint of interest in her voice.
"At one glance I saw right through her brown eyes. Later that night, I found out that her name was Santana Lopez," Puck chuckled. "I asked her what brought her to Florida, and she told me she wanted to forget where she had left her heart."
Quinn sat across Puck with something in her eyes, like some enchanted girl wanting to hear more.
"I laughed at her, but man, she cried big tears," Puck chuckled softly at himself. "I know she wasn't crying for a long time, because she was really crying hard at that night. The next night she came back and apologized for her behavior and stuff. I told her she's fine and she can stay for a chat. Long story short, she became a regular, and I always stayed back each night for a talk with her. And most of her talks consisted of a blonde, blue-eyed girl she had met at some local town someplace in Allen County...in Ohio."
There was a pause between them, and Quinn smiled softly.
"She fell in love with the girl in the photograph. She was the one who took that," Puck explained as he stared at the frame like it's some sort of a lost memory piece.
"Tell me," Quinn said. "I'll buy us dinner."
"You might as well buy some beers. It will be a long night, Miss Fabray."
"I won't care," Quinn smiled as she motioned for Kitty to come and take their order.
"So, you can sit back now," Puck smiled softly at Quinn.
"Fire away," Quinn smiled back as she crossed her legs.
A/N: So here I am again, I am back and ready to do more stories for you, so thank you so much to all of you, because you were my strength through everything in my life and I love you guys so much. Leave your reviews behind because they inspire me.
Please stay tuned in to my account for weekly updates. Thank you for choosing to read this fan fiction.
P.S. Santana and Brittany will be in the next chapters. Also, the next chapter would be a part of Puck's storytelling.