Chapter 24
HOLLIS
Idrove to a place in Venice that specialized in whole foods and organic ingredients with Juno following behind me in her car.
The restaurant went out of their way to locally source every ingredient.
The menu changed based on what was in season.
Juno would appreciate it, or at least I hoped she would. It was all very farm to table.
Inside, the host recognized me immediately and led us to a table.
The space had that California-casual vibe.
Lots of natural light, plants everywhere, reclaimed wood tables.
The kind of place where you could show up in yoga pants or a suit and no one would bat an eye.
The scent of fresh herbs wafted out from the kitchen.
Juno settled into her seat and picked up the menu. I watched her scan the options, saw the moment her expression shifted from wary to intrigued.
“Okay,” she admitted. “This actually looks good.”
We ordered. She went with a grain bowl loaded with roasted vegetables and tahini dressing after I recommended it. I got the grilled salmon with quinoa. The waiter brought water with lemon, and we settled in to wait for our food.
“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “Dietitian. How does someone decide to go into that line of work?”
She took a sip of water, considering the question. “It was my way into the family business, honestly.”
“Your dad pushed for it?”
“Not pushed, exactly. But he definitely encouraged it. He wanted me involved in Young at Heart from the beginning, and getting the credentials made sense if I was going to be making decisions about what products we developed and sold.”
I nodded, understanding that dynamic better than she probably realized. “My father did the same thing. Wanted all of us to go into film, follow in his footsteps. Build the family empire.”
“But none of you took him up on it?”
“Not in the way he wanted. Micah’s the only one really pursuing it, and even he’s doing it his own way, trying to establish himself as a director independently before he touches anything with the Blackwell name attached.
” I leaned back in my chair. “The rest of us scattered in different directions. I went into wellness. My brother and sister have a wedding business with their friend. We all wanted to prove we could succeed without riding our parents’ coattails. ”
“That must have disappointed him.”
“Yes, he never lets us hear the end of it,” I said, grinning. “But I think deep down he respects that we’re trying to make our own marks on the world.”
Our food arrived, and for a few minutes we just ate in companionable silence. The salmon was perfectly cooked, the quinoa seasoned just right, which was a challenge. I watched Juno take her first bite of the grain bowl and saw the satisfied expression cross her face.
“Good?” I asked.
“It is. You have excellent taste in restaurants.”
“I try.”
She took another bite, then set her fork down. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy working with my father. I know a lot of people would find it stifling or feel like they’re living in someone’s shadow, but it’s not like that for us.”
“Yeah? What makes it different?”
“We both genuinely care about what we’re doing. It’s not just about making money or building some empire. We actually want to help people live healthier lives.” She took another bite. “I like that our business contributes something positive. The products we sell are good for people.”
I nodded enthusiastically. Rarely did I meet people that were of the same mindset.
It was usually money first, actual health benefits second.
“I feel the same way. I’m not in this just to get rich or famous or whatever people think.
I actually want to make people’s lives better, even if it’s just by giving them a drink that tastes decent and helps them feel good. ”
She offered a small smile. “I believe you. I didn’t at first, but I do now.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Seeing your operation. The way you talk about it. You’re not faking the passion. It’s real.”
That meant more to me than I’d expected. I took a drink of water, trying to figure out how to respond without sounding like a complete sap.
“I’m glad you believe me,” I said.
“I do. Shame on me for judging a book by its cover.”
I couldn’t explain it but knowing she believed I was more than the son of Hollywood royalty meant a lot. It was the biggest compliment ever.
The restaurant buzzed with conversation around us, but it felt like we were in our own little bubble. I liked sharing a meal with her. I liked hanging out with her in general.
“So now you know,” she said finally. “Why I take this stuff so seriously. Why I was so hard on you at the expo. It’s not just business for me. It’s personal.”
“I get it. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you were hard on me. Made me prove I was serious instead of just coasting by on charm.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“What’s your why?” she asked. “Why are you so passionate about health food?”
I looked down at my plate, pushing quinoa around with my fork while I figured out how to explain this without sounding preachy. But Juno had been honest with me, so I owed her the same.
“Growing up in Hollywood, you see a lot of shit that most people don’t realize is happening behind the scenes.
The industry is obsessed with appearance.
Always has been, always will be. And that obsession creates this toxic culture around food and bodies.
It’s not really a secret actresses are held to some pretty wild beauty standards. ”
She gave me her full attention. “Impossible standards.”
“Exactly. I watched people I cared about destroy themselves trying to meet those impossible standards. Fad diets that stripped their bodies of nutrients. Eating disorders that hospitalized them. All because some casting director said they needed to lose ten pounds or some magazine called them out for gaining weight.” I felt my jaw tighten at the memories.
“My mom had friends who would literally pass out on set because they hadn’t eaten in days.
And everyone just accepted it as normal.
So many of the women were afraid they were going to be the next actress splashed across the tabloids with a baby bump when it was just a burrito belly. ”
“That’s awful,” Juno said. “But I get it. Trust me, I know better than anyone about those standards.”
“You’re gorgeous,” I said. “Never let anyone tell you differently.”
“Thank you. I’m healthy. I’ve accepted not everyone is supposed to be a size two.”
“Absolutely. And the worst part was seeing how the industry marketed ‘health’ products that were anything but healthy. Detox teas that were basically laxatives. Appetite suppressants that fucked with people’s hearts.
Meal replacement shakes full of chemicals and artificial sweeteners.
” I met her eyes. “These products preyed on people’s insecurities while making them sicker. ”
She nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her expression. I loved that she listened and believed me. We were of the same mind. When had anyone, even my family, allowed me to get up on my little soap box and preach?
“So when I decided to start B Well, I wanted to do something different. I wanted to create products that actually helped people be healthy. Not just look a certain way but feel good, have energy, nourish their bodies properly.” I sat up in my seat.
“I know my smoothies aren’t going to solve eating disorders or fix Hollywood’s toxic culture.
But maybe if I can give people one genuinely healthy option that doesn’t taste like cardboard or cost a fortune, that’s something. ”
“That’s really admirable,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t. They see the surface—the Instagram posts, the influencer marketing, the whole aesthetic of it.
They assume it’s just another vanity project from a rich kid with nothing better to do.
” I smiled, but it felt a bit sad. “Which, to be fair, was exactly what you thought when you first met me.”
“Guilty,” she admitted. “But I was wrong. I’ll admit it.”
I’d never explained my motivations to someone outside of my family. It felt good to share it. Especially with her.
“You know what’s funny?” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “You calling my smoothie ‘rat piss’ actually helped me more than you probably realize.”
She laughed, covering her mouth with her napkin. “How is that possible?”
“Because it forced me to prove that my product wasn’t just marketing bullshit. It made me work harder to show people that B Well is legitimate.” I grinned at her. “So thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome, I guess?”
“You’ve already admitted you like it now. No taking it back.”
“Fine. It’s decent. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
We finished our meals, the conversation flowing easier now.
She told me about some of the more ridiculous products she’d run into over the years.
Something called “tree jerky,” which turned out to be plain tree bark with some salt and pepper sprinkled on it.
An appetite-suppressing suppository, which Juno did not try herself.
And a “toxin cleanse” that was just a store-bought laxative in a new package.
I told her about the time I’d accidentally created a smoothie that turned people’s tongues bright green for a full day and my brothers had never forgotten.
By the time the waiter brought the check, I realized we’d been sitting there for over an hour and hadn’t checked my phone once. That was rare for me. I was usually glued to the damn thing, monitoring social media, responding to messages, keeping tabs on everything B Well related.
But sitting across from Juno, I’d forgotten about all of that. She had my complete attention in a way that was both comfortable and terrifying.
I paid the check before she could argue about it, and we walked out into the bright California afternoon.
“So,” I said as we reached our cars. “Want to come see my place? After a meal like that, a little time staring at the ocean helps digestion.”
She laughed, not that polite chuckle she sometimes gave when she played it professional. “That is complete bullshit.”
“Maybe. But it’s a nice view.” I leaned against my car, trying to look casual even though my heart was suddenly pounding. “Come on. I’m literally right on the beach. The view alone is worth it. My house is about three miles from here.”
I could see the internal debate playing out behind those blue eyes. This was a bad idea and we both knew it. Going to my place, alone, after everything that had happened.
“Okay,” she said finally. “But just for a little bit. I really do need to get back to the office eventually.”
“Deal.”
I gave her my address and she plugged it into her GPS. The drive back to my place took about fifteen minutes despite being close. I kept glancing in my rearview mirror to make sure she was still following me, half-expecting her to change her mind and peel off at some intersection.
But she didn’t.
When we pulled into my driveway, I felt that familiar surge of pride I always got when showing someone my house for the first time. It wasn’t the biggest place on the beach—not even close—but it was mine.
Juno got out of her car and just stared at the house, then at the view beyond it.
“Holy shit,” she said.
“Yeah.” I walked up beside her. “That was pretty much my reaction too when I first saw it.”
The Pacific stretched out before us, endless and blue under the afternoon sun. A few surfers bobbed in the water, waiting for the perfect wave.
“Come on,” I said, gesturing toward the front door. “It’s even better from inside.”
I unlocked the door and led her through the entryway.
The house was open concept—living room, kitchen, and dining area all flowing together with those massive windows that looked out onto my deck and the ocean beyond.
I’d kept the furniture minimal and clean.
Lots of natural wood and neutral colors that didn’t compete with the view.
“This is beautiful,” Juno said, walking toward the windows like they were pulling her forward. “I can’t believe you live here.”
I headed to the kitchen. “Want something to drink? I’ve got wine, beer, sparkling water, regular water, or I could make us some smoothies.”
She turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “If you make me a smoothie right now, I’m leaving.”
I laughed. “Fair enough. Water?”
“Sure. Why not.”
I added lemon slices to each glass and handed her one.
“To successful commercial shoots,” I said, raising my glass.
“To surviving them,” she corrected, clinking her glass against mine.
I slid open the glass door and we stepped outside. The ocean breeze hit us immediately, carrying that salt smell I’d grown to love. The sound of the waves was louder out here. I had a few lounge chairs set up, a small table between them.
Juno kicked off her heels and walked to the railing. She leaned against it and lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes.
“I could get used to this,” she said.
“It never gets old.” I joined her at the railing, close enough that our arms almost touched. “Some mornings I wake up early just to watch the sun rise over the water. Best meditation I’ve ever found.”
“Better than yoga?”
“Definitely.”
I should have stepped back and created some distance. We’d agreed to keep things professional, and in that moment, there was nothing professional about my thoughts.
I moved closer. She didn’t step back.