Making a connection

Sitting in a deserted subway save a sleeping homeless on my way to Manhattan from Queens, it was quite natural for me to look up to the woman who was at the door when the train stopped at 45th Street, Courthouse on the V line. She was attractive: caucasian in her early-mid thirties, dressed warm but sexy for the weather, hair casually pulled back, makeup there but seemingly not. The aura about her was very carefully careless.
It was not pheromonal attraction that made me gaze at her. It was her more than a handful of shopping bags that she was trying to carry. The Brown Bag was there repeatedly in all the sizes, the bags carrying shoes were quite conspicuous, and of course the compulsory Victoria's Secret pink bag for all the female shoppers. She looked like she could use some help as one bag decided to break free from her clutches. I leaned forward to grab the bag, but she got it before I could be of any help. She did not say anything but looked at me and gave me a smile that said - thank you but I got it.

I returned her acknowledgment with a smile. Who said New Yorkers were abrasive?
When I was getting ready to get off at Union Square, I realized that the woman was painstakingly making her way towards the door in a now quite crowded compartment. As she found her place beside me, she leaned over to me. I was going to protest her thank you's, since, after all, I really did not do anything to help. But she, in a very husky voice, almost whispered in my ear - Was it just me, or did we make a connection there???

I bolted Bambi-eyed as the doors started to part. Usually full of smart alec retorts, all I could think of while making it to ground level was "making a connection" was definitely over-rated!