Amy Edelman and Phil Leo

SAVVY singles have long known that successful dating requires putting yourself out there, and sometimes a bit of clever marketing as well. Amy Edelman, a widow and a mother of two young daughters, took those notions to heart. It was early 2003, about two years since the death of her husband, and Ms. Edelman was lonely.

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Flower girls add to the merriment at the wedding on the grounds of the Crossed Keys Inn.

"She had a good marriage, and liked that state, and wanted it again," said Jean Chemay, a longtime friend.

Ms. Edelman, a freelance writer and publicist in Montclair, N.J., set out to find her perfect match, which she determined would be a divorced man with children.

Her campaign included grueling rounds of speed dating, dates arranged online and a ,000 excursion to a matchmaker. When none produced a suitable candidate, she sent an e-mail message to 30 friends, promising a ,000 vacation to the person who introduced her to her soul mate.

Her e-mail message found its way to The Daily News, which published an article about her. Ms. Edelman was not prepared for what followed. Responses to the article poured in, eventually exceeding 800. Ms. Edelman felt obligated to respond to every offer, but went on dates with four of the men. But she did not find what she was looking for with any of them.

By late 2003, she had given up, focusing instead on her friends, job and children. That is when Ms. Edelman and her daughters had dinner with Pamela Leo and her husband, Neil Ziesing, who lived in the same co-op. Seated next to Ms. Edelman was Ms. Leo's brother, Phil, a professional stock photographer who had never been married. His friends described him as laid back, with a penchant for groan-worthy jokes.

"They were laughing," Ms. Leo recalled. "And it clicked in my mind that they were perfect for each other." More monthly dinner parties with the neighbors ensued, all arranged in the hope that she and Mr. Leo would hit it off, Mr. Ziesing said.

Ms. Edelman said she never thought of the dinners as set-ups. But Mr. Leo said, "Other people from the building were also invited, but it always seemed Amy was there. "

"I always did like her - I thought she was witty," Mr. Leo, 45, said. "I didn't think she was terribly interested." He was under the impression, he said, that a bachelor was not her type.

Ms. Edelman's lack of interest, however, had more to do with exhaustion from her abandoned search. "I was not in flirty-datey mode," Ms. Edelman, 48, recalled.

By May 2005, Mr. Leo had moved into the same co-op building. That August he was moved to ask Ms. Edelman out to dinner.

After the meal, which Ms. Edelman saw as a platonic outing, they drove back to the co-op and entered the elevator. "I've got the doggie bag in my hand, and as soon as door closes he pulls me toward him and starts kissing me," she said. Both recall the sound of the bag hitting the floor.

"The fact that he did something so dramatic opened my eyes to him as a potential suitor," she said.

After the kiss, she told him that their many social connections in the building would make a romantic relationship "complicated." His reply? "Actually, it might be very simple."

For her, "it took some shifting gears," Ms. Edelman said. "It wasn't that I wasn't paying attention to the kind of guy he was - that he has a great sense of humor, that he is confident and creative - I just hadn't considered him as a possible mate."

Ms. Edelman and Mr. Leo were married on Sept. 23 in front of 160 guests in an outdoor ceremony at the Crossed Keys Inn in Andover, N.J. Bonnie Cushing, an interfaith minister, officiated under a colorful huppah that was decorated with memories that included Ms. Edelman's first words to Mr. Leo after their elevator encounter: "Well, at least you're a good kisser."

A few days before the wedding, Ms. Edelman spoke of discovering love when and where she hadn't expect to find it. "When you meet somebody and you think it's a romantic prospect, you put on your best face and tell your best jokes," she said. "But I just acted normal. It's disconcerting to have someone like you without the artifice of the extra mascara."