The Villa of Noah Bernard.
"Wow. Your calligraphy seems to be improving with each passing day," Dolores Bernard commended her husband's handwriting as she stood behind him in the study, holding a small tray.
Noah Bernard chuckled and lowered his brush pen, turning his full attention to his wife.
"I brought you some tea," Dolores said, handing the cup to Noah. However, her gesture only elicited a grimace from him upon smelling the aroma.
"Puerh tea? I've told you, I don't like it, honey," Noah groaned, tilting his head away from the tea as if avoiding it.
Dolores gazed at her sixty-eight-year-old husband, behaving like a sixteen-year-old boy, and chuckled softly.
"The tea is good for you, Noah. Stop acting like a baby and drink it," she scolded, a stern yet playful tone in her voice.
