Brooklyn Nine Nine

Chapter 10: Shares and Steak

Jake Peralta, on a rare day off, sat cross-legged on his couch in flannel pajama pants and a gray tee, sipping burnt coffee from a cracked Spider-Man mug. His laptop screen glowed with a blinking cursor, the page open on his Robinhood investment dashboard.

The tab next to it showed a confirmation email from Craigslist Buyer: Jason L., who had purchased Jake's Mustang in cash just two days ago.

Jake stared at the funds now transferred into his checking account.

"Alright," he said aloud to himself. "No gaming rigs. No vintage leather jackets. No buying stock in that cursed hot sauce company again."

He clicked the search bar.

Stock: META (Facebook)

Jake typed in $5,000, clicked Buy, and leaned back as the screen confirmed the transaction.

"Boom. Adult move made," he whispered.

The rest of the day was uneventful: laundry, an actual vacuuming session, and thirty minutes spent wondering what cologne didn't smell like 'trying too hard.' At exactly 7:50 PM, Jake stood in front of his bathroom mirror in dark jeans, a fitted black shirt, and a jacket Rosa had once described as "surprisingly not tragic."

He checked the dating app one last time.

Veronica (29) — Teacher. Likes movies, red wine, and sarcastic men.

Jake grabbed his keys.

Jake arrived at Le Ciel, a mid-range French-American place with outdoor lights, wine lists printed on recycled paper, and portions that looked like art exhibits. Veronica was already seated at a table for two near the window.

She wore a navy-blue dress with a soft scarf draped over her shoulders. She stood as Jake approached, smiling warmly.

"Jake?" she asked.

"Veronica?" he replied with a smile.

They shook hands — a little awkwardly at first — then sat down.

"You're on time," she said, a little amused. "Are you one of those punctual New Yorkers?"

"I'm evolving," Jake replied. "But no, normally I'm a human disaster. You just got lucky."

After a bit of small talk about the restaurant's weird menu (Jake accidentally called one dish "salmon disappointment"), things settled into a comfortable rhythm.

"So, what do you do?" she asked, sipping from her wine glass.

"I'm a detective," Jake said. "99th precinct. Brooklyn."

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Really? Like homicide detective?"

"Technically major crimes. We handle homicides, robberies, drug busts, sometimes the occasional graffiti shaped like a… never mind."

She laughed. "That's intense. And a little gross. But cool."

"What about you?" Jake leaned forward slightly.

"I teach fifth grade. Mostly math and science."

Jake grinned. "So you're the real superhero."

She rolled her eyes playfully. "Try convincing eleven-year-olds that long division matters."

"Hey, that sounds harder than catching criminals. At least criminals don't throw glue sticks at your head."

"Mine do," she deadpanned.

They both laughed.

Halfway through the meal — Veronica with grilled chicken, Jake with an over-seasoned steak he was pretending to like — the conversation turned to movies.

"Top three?" she asked. "And don't say Die Hard three times."

Jake looked mock-offended. "How dare you."

"You soo were going to."

"Fine. Die Hard, Hot Fuzz, and… Ocean's Eleven."

"Hmm. Action, comedy, and stylish crime. I approve. Very on-brand."

Jake took a bite and gestured with his fork. "Okay, your turn."

"The Princess Bride, Inception, and Dead Poets Society."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "That's… actually a killer list."

"I know," she said smugly. "It's cultured, emotional, and very teacher-core."

"I'm learning things," Jake said. "I feel like I'm leveling up mid-date."

"Do you always talk like you're in a buddy-cop movie?"

"Only when I'm nervous," Jake admitted.

Veronica tilted her head, studying him. "You don't seem nervous."

Jake smiled, a little softer this time. "That's because I'm having a good time."

She smiled back. "Me too."

After splitting dessert (a mini cheesecake with fruit garnish neither of them could pronounce), they stepped outside into the cool Brooklyn air. The streets were lit with the soft glow of bistro lamps and passing cars.

"I had fun," Jake said, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "You're not what I expected."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Definitely good. I expected small talk and someone who'd lie about loving The Notebook. You surprised me."

Veronica smiled. "And I expected a cop who talked about badge stuff all night. You surprised me too."

They paused for a moment.

"Can I walk you to your car?" Jake offered.

"I'm just around the corner," she said. "But yes."

They walked side by side, the silence comfortable now.

As they reached her car, she turned toward him. "Want to do this again sometime?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah. Definitely."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek — short, sweet, casual.

"Good night, Detective."

Jake watched her drive off, then let out a breath and smiled.

Back in his apartment, Jake loosened his jacket, dropped his keys on the counter, and checked his phone.

No precinct calls. No emergencies.

He checked his Robinhood app: Facebook stock was already up 2.4%.

He tossed his phone on the couch and looked out the window toward the city skyline.

For once, things felt… balanced.

Jake smirked.

"Not bad for a guy who used to wear taco sauce packets as cufflinks."