There's a merry-go-round in Parc Tivoli in Copenhagen where, for as long as its owner, Freya, can remember, the first snow of the year falls on Christmas Eve.

With the first fluffy flake appears atop one of the horses, a young man with eyes like mountain lakes, a boyish smile, sweater, beanie, and scarf mismatched yet perfect.

"I don't remember selling you a ticket."

"I pay with snow," the man taunts Freya.

"That measly bit?"

He smiles and the flakes multiply and thicken, spinning the go-round in a magical, white whirlwind.

"Merry Christmas, Freya."

"Merry Christmas, Jack."