Bus to ??? story

I had a story written for a flash fiction competition in Writers Journal and was about to press send when I checked and found I had not read the brief properly and the taale was out of spec. I'd enjoyed writing it so much I couldn't let it just lie about, so here it is. I'll stick it on the web-pagewww.sullatoberdalton.com/pen-sullatober/short-stories
The pic is one of Pam Pepper's

BUS TO ???

I was standing at the bus stop, when a man about my own fifty odd years joined me. Instead of the usual dumb brick, why can’t Avril arrange a man like that as a dinner partner for me, I thought.

When we got on, there were only two seats, side by side.

‘I’m sorry, this is the only seat, do you mind?’ he asked.

I smiled, moved and he sat down.

‘You look so different when you smile,’ he said. ‘At the stop, you looked so fierce.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with you,’ I said. ‘I have to go to one of these frightful dinner parties.’

He grinned and we made small talk until he asked what I did.

‘I’m a painter,’ I told him.

‘Why do you paint?’

‘I want to share what I see. I love to paint people. I did a grandmother with a little girl jumping in the waves. I’ve painted the little girl talking to her granny with her little brother standing there, wanting to say something but too shy to speak. Or maybe he just couldn’t get a word in edgeways,’ I added.

As the bus rumbled on, we became confidents. Well, I confided and he listened. In the end, I realised I was gabbing on.

‘What do you do?’ I asked.

‘I’m a journalist and I like talking to people. I find them as fascinating as your grannies.’

‘So that’s why you’re such a good listener,’ I said. ‘You looked as if you were really enjoying what I was saying.’

‘You were animated and make it so interesting just to listen.’

 When he said animated, I realised I’d been waving my hands as I talked, you know how I do, and been bumping against him, even putting my hand on his knee, and felt my face colouring. I looked out of the window and was relieved to see I was nearly at my stop. ‘It’s been lovely talking to you but I’m afraid the next stop is mine.’

‘You’re not going to the Mathews’ dinner party, are you?’

I laughed. ‘You’re not John, are you?’

‘And you must be Laura.’

‘This could be fun,’ I said, putting my hand on his leg again, as you do with someone you like. ‘Let me go in first and give them a talking to about getting me partners who have nothing to say and just grunt replies.’

He smiled. ‘Which is close enough to the truth to make them worry.’

‘Then you come in and tell them off for arranging partners who never stop talking.’

He grinned at me like a fellow conspirator. ‘You know, young lady, I don’t want to share you with a busload of people on the way back. Let me order a taxi for us.’

I raised my hand to my mouth in mock horror. ‘Then you’ll know where I live.’

‘If I’m going to send you a valentine card, I’ll need to know your address,’ he grinned.