A/N: My headcanon is that Steve constantly misplaces his phone (much like my grandmother) because he's not used to having to cart one around.

There were Mini Wheats where there should have been bread.

Steve stared in dismay at the sight before him. They couldn't have - shouldn't have, but with each person who walked in, glanced up, and turned away with a huff, he knew they had.

They had rearranged the store. The store Steve had only a week ago gotten the layout of properly committed to memory. The store he had just assured Diana he could manage to shop in all by his lonesome (he was a spy afterall, he could handle the grocery store thank you very much) while she went to a different store down the road. Someone had gotten the brilliant idea to swap the cereal and the bread aisles, without having the kindness or decency to let anyone know in advance, and seriously, couldn't anything about this century be easy?

With a sigh, he turned away from the Mini Wheats, shoving the empty cart a little harder than necessary and making his way to where he remembered them being previously, hoping they had, for some unfathomable reason, decided to only change out two aisles.

When he found not bread, but laundry detergent, he was disappointed, but not surprised. He pulled out his phone and considered texting a complaint to Diana, thought again when the black screen didn't respond to his poking at it. At least the shopping list was a paper one, and there were only so many aisles to search through. It couldn't possibly take that long.

Only it did. Aisles that used to house pasta noodles and bags of flour now held cake mix and lint rollers. Things that one would expect to be together - that had been together up until today - were on opposite ends of the store, and in their place were irrational combinations such as toilet paper and maple syrup. It was perplexing. He couldn't imagine what they'd been thinking when they'd planned it, and was half convinced there was no planning involved at all.

He made it a little over halfway through the list (that was now in a completely random, nonsensical order) and was examining the selection of toothpaste (why were there so many?) when someone stepped up beside him.

"Missing something?" Diana asked, trying and failing not to smile, holding out a phone between him and the toothpaste, one that looked oddly like his phone. He frowned at it, slapping his pockets and coming up empty.

"Huh. Um. Oops?" He took it back, pleased that this time, when he jabbed a finger at the screen it lit up, a few missed calls and messages from Diana pinging through. "Where was it?"

"The shelf with the fabric softener."

"Right," he muttered, finally selecting a tube and chucking it into the cart. He met her eyes, his tone flat and unamused. "They moved everything. The. Whole. Store."

She nodded, face serious but eyes shining with mirth. "They do that, from time to time."

"I don't like it."

"No one likes it."

Steve looked at Diana. Diana looked back. An old lady turned into the end of the aisle, squinted at the toothpaste, and threw up her arms in defeat.

"I suppose not," he said as the woman turned around and left. As soon as the aisle was once again their own, they broke into giggles, the ridiculousness of the day catching up to them.

"Need any help finishing off that list?" She asked, already steering the cart towards the next aisle.

"Always," he whispered, willing to spend the rest of his life wandering around that store, so long as he was with her.