Who actually says 'BRB,' Rumlow thinks as Kenzi disappears. He shakes his head and lets her go search for whatever he's supposed to be regretting. Meanwhile, he slowly moves around, remembering zucchini, carrots, summer squash and mushrooms. He starts towards the aisle where he presumes the pasta is, since he definitely remembers that when Kenzi comes back with an armful of -- junk.

He blinks at her as she tumbles the stack of groceries into the cart. The vodka catches his eye and he suddenly remembers that she's Russian. Right. That shit probably flows in her veins.

"You really gonna compare vodka and wine to an Italian?" Rumlow asks, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Thought you knew me."

He adds, pretending to look hurt as he continues pushing the cart. Two aisles over, there's an assortment of pasta noodles lined up on the wall and now he's got to pick what shape he wants. Part of him considers fettuccine, but maybe farfalle? He runs a hand through his hair as he thinks.