I almost made the biggest mistake of my life just now: I almost asked Tony Micelli to marry me. Don't get me wrong, I would love to have him as a husband. But it's too soon and I probably would've just frightened him away.

I know, it sounds weird to say it's too soon, when we've known each other forever. We grew up together in the old neighborhood. I remember him when he hated girls. I remember him when he was eleven and I overheard him bragging to Philly and Bobby and his other friends about French-kissing some rich blonde at summer camp. (Not at the Y Camp obviously, some camp across the water.) I remember him when he was swaggering around as a macho teenaged hood. And I remember him as a ball player in the minors who eloped with Marie Milano.

By then, I was working my way through college and I sort of lost track of him. I went back to Brooklyn sometimes and I'd hear of him, but he was mostly on the road and our paths never crossed. And then I won a scholarship to Harvard Law, and I went home even less.

And then I came home in time to help Pop out at this year's street fair. I don't know much about gelato, or any food preparation, but I did OK.

And there was Tony, at the neighboring booth, managing the kebobs. And we got reacquainted. He's changed a lot, all for the better. As boyishly handsome as ever, at 35, but more mature, more sensitive.

And now a widower. Poor Marie died almost ten years ago. Tony is raising their daughter Samantha alone. Well, sort of alone. But I'll get to that.

There was definitely chemistry between me and Tony, and I'm too old now for Pop to threaten to send me to a convent for considering dating Tony. So Tony and I danced and kissed at the street fair. And I ended up, well, renting him. No, not like that. They auctioned off his housekeeping services. Yeah, he's a housekeeper now.

Soon after Marie died, Tony's shoulder was seriously injured playing against the Mets. (This was before my firm started handling their account.) He had to retire before he was thirty. He didn't know what to do with himself for awhile. The Rossinis, who are almost like family to him, had him driving their fish truck for a couple years.

But, much as he loves Brooklyn, it's a rough place to bring up a kid, rougher than when we were kids. He wanted a better life for Samantha. And then, although he wasn't looking for a job like this, he found a chance to be a housekeeper in Fairfield, Connecticut. This was three years ago, and he and his daughter seem very happy there, although Sam, who's almost fifteen now, has completely lost her accent.

He lives and works for a rich blonde ad exec. On the plus side, that means he's comfortable enough with his masculinity now to not worry about whether or not he's macho. On the down side, that means he works for a rich blonde ad exec, who is incidentally good-looking, smart, and his best friend.

He claims they're just friends but I don't know. I mean, why would his employer bid on him when he works for her anyway? Yes, Pitkin Avenue Beautification is a good cause, but $100 for one weekend? I decided to bid $1000 and see just how serious she was. She let me "win" him, so I decided she wasn't as much of a threat as I feared. Or maybe she figured even Tony wasn't worth a grand.

I disagree. And, yes, he did a marvelous job with my East Side penthouse. But it was the services that I didn't pay for, the ones that he said were "free of charge," that I most appreciated.

It's very difficult to find men who aren't intimidated by my success. I certainly never expected to find one in Brooklyn. Even on the East Side, it's not easy. And then there are the ones who look down on me for being from Brooklyn. With Tony, none of this is an issue. So I guess I can be grateful to Angela, his boss, for getting him used to ambitious women. (She runs her own ad agency.)

However. Tony and I had just made love, and in the afterglow I was about to say something about making this permanent. When the phone rang. And it was for Tony. Angela, asking where he keeps the dish-washing detergent. OK, I know, she's not any more domestic than I am, but come on! She couldn't look in her own cupboards? Is she that helpless that she couldn't function without him for a whole weekend? Or was something else going on here?

And it looks like it's not going to be a whole weekend. After he hung up, he asked if he could use my shower and then head back to Connecticut. Well, what was I going to say? "No, Buddy, I own you for another twenty-four hours"? So I suggested we get together again in a couple days and he said sure.

I need to find out what the actual situation with Angela is. I mean, I don't think she has any claim on him, but for all I know she thinks she does. After all, they've been living together for three years, raising each other's kids, crying on each other's shoulders. I know that she used to work for a big ad agency and she only started her own at his encouragement. Like I said, best friends.

It does give me hope that it has been three years and nothing's happened. But maybe that means that Tony just doesn't want to get married again after losing Marie. I need to find that out, too.

My mind is made up. I could marry Tony tomorrow and be perfectly happy. But he's going to need time I think. We'll keep dating and I can prove to him that I'm the perfect woman for him. Not to brag, but I am a catch, especially for someone with Tony's tastes. I'm smart and successful but I love baseball and beer. And I'm not bad-looking and I have a sense of humor. He could definitely do worse.

Not that Angela is worse. I don't have anything against her really. I just don't want her being possessive of him when she's not going to make her move. Maybe she's gotten lazy, taken him for granted. I won't make that mistake.

But on the other hand, I don't want to make the mistake of coming on too strong, too fast. Even the sex was a risk that I maybe should've held off on. Tony used to be the kind of guy who believed, as most of the guys in the neighborhood did (and some still do), that there are girls you fool around with and girls you marry. But maybe I could be both kinds for him.

I think about how sometimes in court, I've charged forward, been aggressive, and it's lost me as many cases as it's won. I need to watch that. Because this is a case I don't intend to lose.

And then when Tony steps back into the bedroom, a towel hanging from his waist, I use all my self-restraint not to steer him back to bed. I think it may be time to consider a secondary strategy.