Sitting on a plane from Budapest to Los Angeles — a journey I was familiar with — felt different this time. I was visualizing my new startup job in sunny Manhattan Beach, thinking through onboarding and first impressions. But mostly, I was excited to meet my new colleagues and make the most of my three-week stay in California.

On a whim, I messaged an old Hungarian friend I hadn’t seen in 10 years. We’d completely lost touch, and I wasn’t even sure he’d reply. But he did.

I landed in L.A. on a bright Monday afternoon at the end of September, full of curiosity and optimism. Our office was just steps from the ocean, and when I caught my first glimpse of the Pacific on the way to work, I thought: Is this really my life now?

I had no idea just how much more it would change.

That weekend, my friend Gabor and I planned a little road trip to Long Beach. He picked me up from my hotel, and we spent the day catching up, making scenic stops along the coast.

Palos Verdes left me speechless. I envy anyone seeing it for the first time. But it was Long Beach and Crystal Cove that truly stole the show.

On the drive back, Gabor casually mentioned his friend Adam, a fellow Hungarian who lived in Marina del Rey and had a boat. “We could go for a little cruise tomorrow,” he said. I had time. So sure. Why not?

Sunday arrived. I still remember seeing Adam from afar. He was tall, tanned, wearing shorts and flip-flops, and cracking jokes before even saying hello. Oh, dear God, I thought. He thinks he’s funny.

Spoiler alert: That was the day I met my future husband.

Adam started the engines and off we went. He was playful, effortlessly cool, a bit too cool for my taste. But the sun was shining, and the ocean breeze was soft. I had a cool job in my pocket and I was cruising the Pacific while escaping autumn in Europe. I couldn’t have cared less about anything else.

Suddenly, Adam turned to me and said, “Want to drive?”

“What?” I laughed. Was he serious? He just met me! Why would he hand over control of this … vessel? Still, I jumped at the opportunity.

With his guidance, I drove a yacht for the first time, an unexpectedly empowering moment.

I’ll remember that moment forever. That small, genuine gesture — offering control — meant so much to me.

Here’s the thing: I’ve always struggled with men. I was previously married, dated all kinds of complicated guys and had been single for eight years. Most of them tried to control me, made me feel like I was too much or not enough, never fully accepting the strong, fearless, curious, ambitious and adventurous woman I am. So I wasn’t looking.

But being in Adam’s presence felt different. It was respectful, natural, effortless. No games.

Still I was leaving in two weeks. No reason to overthink anything.

Before I knew it, we exchanged numbers. Adam kept reaching out. He made an effort, something I wasn’t used to. We had dinner, ran errands (yes, including doing laundry — romantic, I know), and when Gabor bailed on weekend plans, Adam proposed something bold: “Do you like road trips? Let’s explore California a bit.”

“Absolutely,” I replied without hesitation. (What was I thinking though?)

He didn’t know that travel and road trips in particular were my love language — nature too.

It was another surprising sign that maybe we had more in common than just being Hungarian. He planned everything: the itinerary, the stops, the accommodation. My contribution? A good playlist and a packed bag. For once, I wasn’t the one orchestrating it all. It felt amazing to be cared for by a capable man. And I was impressed — it was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We hit the road. Santa Barbara first, then Solvang for Danish pastries and strong coffee (what a gem!), then continued on to Sequoia. I was enchanted by the ancient trees and the mystical forest. The vibe between us? Electric. I half-expected a kiss, but it never came. Well, never mind.

While convincing myself we’d never become a thing, we took the scenic route back to L.A., talking openly about our pasts and dreams. The whole time, a quiet voice inside me whispered: I like the version of me next to him.

Something shifted. Suddenly, I felt a sting of sadness, knowing my final week in California was about to begin. We said we’d stay in touch. But no expectations.

Then something unexpected happened: A week that was supposed to be packed with meetings started clearing up. One by one, things got canceled, and suddenly I had time. And I knew exactly who I wanted to spend it with. I texted Adam.

In his usual casual way, he replied: “Want to go for a sunset cruise?” Yes. Always yes.

That evening was pure magic. The sea, the light, the feeling of being completely at ease.

Afterward, we had dinner at a tiny Thai place in Venice Beach. It was just us. No distractions.

While sipping wonton soup under the California sky, I realized I was falling in love. I saw the same thing in his eyes.

The next night, he took me to the beach in El Segundo. He packed a blanket, grapes, cheese and crackers. We watched the sunset, and I was wrapped in his arms. His kisses warmed me more than the sun ever could. (I know — cheesy. But true.)

Friday came, my last full day. He planned everything: a trip to the Getty, hand-in-hand laughter, sweeping city views. For the first time, I saw L.A. not just as a place to visit but as a place to stay. We had dinner in Venice and walked the pier. It was perfect.

The next morning, he drove me to Los Angeles International Airport.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, eyes brimming with tears.

But here’s the thing: Sometimes life surprises you when you least expect it.

I did come back. He did propose. And I said the easiest yes of my life.

I found the love of my life at 42, in the most unrealistic way, place and time. This month, we’re celebrating our first anniversary, happily living in Marina del Rey.

Since that first cruise, we’ve had many more — each one different, but one thing never changes: our love for each other. If you don’t believe in true love or in angels, maybe you haven’t been to L.A.

This city gave me more than a new job, a new view or a new chapter. It gave me him. And now, it’s home. Happily ever after.

The author lives in Marina del Rey. She works in people strategy and leadership development and moved to L.A. from Budapest last year.

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.