I was three years post-divorce, with a 12-year-old son and a newly adopted puppy, living in Park La Brea, where a community of single moms had come together. We were all free from the burden of marriage and entertained the idea of “getting back out there.” None of us had ever really dabbled with dating apps. We took the plunge together and began sending profiles of potential suitors around. We’d hype each other up for dates and then share hilarious post-date stories on group calls.

I was conflicted about dating. After my marriage had failed, I discovered I needed a lot of solo time to regenerate myself with regularity. I also didn’t want to bring anyone new into my son’s life for fear that he’d think another man had become my priority. I thought it would be fun to take a lover, but nothing serious. Ideally I could get dressed up once a week and go to a great restaurant or experience something fun in the city with zero expectations for the future and no strings attached.

My first app date was coffee with a drummer from a Midwest band I regularly saw in college. The conversation consisted of him endlessly name-dropping and asking zero questions about me. That made me ruthless in my swiping, inevitably resulting in corny app messages including “There are no more bees in your Hive.”

My three red flags for profile photos were: no photos on a step-and-repeat; no photos with a celebrity; and no photos cheers-ing with a drink. I had zero interest in dating anyone obsessed with stars or fame. Try steering clear of those in this city.

The idea of dating again had me sobbing to a girlfriend while driving to my next date. She reminded me of my dating plan by saying, “It’s just one date.” Expecting the worst, I was surprised instead to meet a successful entrepreneur and triathlete with sexy curly hair, an empty nester who lived in the suburbs an hour north of L.A. We had matched because he happened to be in the city, and my five-mile radius setting allowed him to appear. However, we came from worlds apart.

Him: Married young, clean-cut professional, impeccable dresser, no TV watching, a generous philanthropist, up at 5 a.m. to work out daily. He was a go-getter, a ball of energy, and he knew virtually nothing about pop culture. He was an adult man with a retirement plan, which made him sexy.

Me: Married later, unconventional creative type, tattoos, a lover of colorful trendy clothes, a free spirit and, after decades of wild partying, sober.

We found each other equally fascinating. We were dating outside our boxes. It was intoxicating.

I had declared that I didn’t need a man or a relationship, but this guy was different. This magnificent man kept showing up with flowers, leaving sweet cards, washing my car and filling my fridge. He did what he said he was going to do and always picked up my calls. A giver, not a taker, he showed me how to be a true partner in a relationship. Bit by bit, I was falling in love, and our chemistry was euphoric.

But even with all that, it soon became a game of Tetris, lining up the windows of time to spend together and where work, friends, parenting and solo-time pieces fit into the puzzle.

One date turned into three years of adventuring, monthly travels, new restaurants, cities, family weddings and concerts. He still drove into L.A. once or twice a week and most weekends, adding 240 miles and six hours of travel to the weekly grind. There were casual conversations about the future and even living together. I was committed to getting my son through high school. And then my life would be my own, so my typical response was: “Life will be wildly different in three years, and we’ll figure it out then.”

We got more intertwined in each other’s lives all while trying to compromise and negotiate the appropriate amount of time together. I have a firm quality-over-quantity mentality, while he craved a full-time partner to kiss goodnight and wake up with every morning. I continued to try to find more time for us to be together, and he reluctantly adjusted to not living together or seeing me every day. We coasted this way for a while, but the lack of focus on future plans became more glaring. It became obvious to him that I did have a plan. But it didn’t include a man.

When my son leaves for college in two years, I plan to put some dents in my bucket list: spontaneously travel, do volunteer work, sail the seas, visit friends and family — to be “free” in the sense that I would have no other significant person influencing my decisions.

My boyfriend was exhausted from remaining hopeful that I would want to settle into domestic daily bliss together, and it became clear that scenario might never materialize with me. We found ourselves at a crossroads and ultimately ended it.

It’s easier to end a relationship when someone’s cheating or betraying you, which has been my experience. But when you’re with someone healthy, loving and emotionally present, more is at stake. Giving up something because the timing is off, coupled with the persistent desire to maintain your original wants and needs, takes courage.

We’re only a couple of months post-breakup, and neither of us regrets the decision. It’s been sad and hard with a zillion reminders of each other. However, there is a spectacular life to live out there and all kinds of ways to do it with or without a partner. I get to decide, not because I need someone but because I want someone. We had to follow our instincts and be true to who we are.

We met up for a final dinner to exchange items and made a future date to circle back and see where our journeys have taken us. Maybe then, the timing will be right.

The author is the co-founder of the Good Things agency (Instagram: @goodthingsteam) and lives in Hollywood.

L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.